


Butterfly Dawn

by badluckvixen13 (alteringviews)



Series: Media Series [10]
Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z Abridged Movie
Genre: Awesome Bulma Briefs, F/M, Godly Ki, Good Parent Goku, M/M, Other, Saiyan Culture, Saiyans, Team Four Star did this, Vegeta is a King, Vegeta's A+ Parenting, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11449683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteringviews/pseuds/badluckvixen13
Summary: In order to secure a new future for the Saiyan race, King Vegeta enters into a battle against the King of Earth. Upon realizing that he is Kakarot, the Saiyan that had been sent to take over Earth, he demands his allegiance. When Goku defeats him in battle, Vegeta must abide by the rules of Earth and the demands of Goku.That includes a human mate, a halfling son, and annual tournaments, but what happens when Vegeta is presented with the opportunity to be the King he was born to be at a price?And what will happen to Trunks?





	1. Halfling

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fifty Shades of Strawberry Scented Lavender](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9470435) by [AlphaLightBearer (LightBearer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightBearer/pseuds/AlphaLightBearer). 
  * Inspired by [DBZA Movie: Broly](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/314898) by Team Four Star. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being the halfling son of King Vegeta is harder than Trunks allows people to think. 
> 
> Unfortunately, Bulma is his mother.

Trunks closed the door shut the door behind him and held his breath listening to people running past the door. He sighed, grateful and floated towards his room to change quickly. 

“Trunks? Sweetie is that you?”

“Yeah, Mom,” he called, sliding into new clothes and checking his face. He cursed a bit seeing the growing shiner on his eye. A dark purpling mass before hurrying to get the salve he kept in the drawer. 

“Could you give me a hand, sweetheart?”

“Coming!” Trunks dabbed it on quickly, screwed the top back on and checked the mirror as he re-wrapped his tail around his leg and banded it there. Pulling up his pants, he spun around. Nothing looked out of place and he headed to the kitchen where he’d heard her voice coming from.

“In the lab, dear,” she said easily. 

He turned and caught her up in a hug. HOw BUlma, daughter of the illustrious Capsule Corporation’s head scientist and owner, ended up as the consort to King Vegeta of the Saiyan Refugees of Earth, he still wasn’t clear on. 

Their quarters were on the edge of the Saiyan compound, nearest to the labs and furthest from the training grounds and the royal quarters that were fashioned partially out of the ship they landed on Earth in.  

“Hello, dear, you--”

She grabbed his face and sniffed at the curve of his jaw.  He winced at her grip and cursed: he’d forgotten a spot in his rush. 

“You smell… different. Aftershave?”

_ Do they make strawberries and cream aftershave?  _

Probably for women.

_ Roll with it, Trunks. _

“Er… yeah. Like it?”

“You don't grow facial hair, sweetheart,” she said sweetly. “As much as your father hates the fact.”

He swallowed and stammered. In the only way that a mother could know exactly what happened she jammed a hand into his side, causing him to cry out. He lost control of his flight just long enough to fly out of her reach and curl up against the lancing pain. Trunks stilled, his jaw trembling in fear, ready to explain though his mind was silent. He couldn’t meet her eyes no matter how much he wanted to. 

Bulma said nothing, watching her son, barely fifteen years old floating in mid air as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She knew from being on the Saiyan compound that flight was something common to Saiyan kind, but as he was born without a tail, she hadn’t thought that he’d inherited any of those powers. She’d thought he’d dodged the Saiyan genes that Goku’s children had in spades. 

It seemed not. 

“We will talk about this over lunch, young man. For now, tend that and whatever other injuries you have.”

Trunks hung his head and let himself land on his feet before walking back to his room and closing the door. For a moment, he leaned against the door, praying for some sort of strength, for her forgiveness, for something but he set about doing as he was told, stripping down properly to wince at the ugly bruise. He felt along his ribcage and found that it wasn’t broken. With a bit of the healing ointment and some rest, he would be fine. The other bruises were all superficial and yielded to the same treatment.

He swallowed the sounds of pain, knowing that Bulma’s anxiety was already too high having this revealed to her. When he was finished, he found her in the laboratory and helped her finish up the project in silence before lunch. 

Bulma waited patiently, eating slowly as he ate and avoided her gaze. His long lavender bangs formed a curtain over his face. It was shorter again, neatly trimmed to a bowl cut.

“Don’t make me ask, Trunks.” She said. “I see you’ve cut your hair again at that…”

He swallowed but pulled the small jar out of his pocket to set on the table. She picked it up and opened it, sniffing it. 

_ Strawberries and fresh cream? _ It was a few scent changes away from the shampoo Chi-Chi gave him.

“Lotion?”

“It’s how… I’ve been tending my injuries.”

“Your injuries from what?”

He swallowed, “Promise not to tell the King?”

“Your father or Goku?”

“The first.”

She took a breath, “Depends on what you have to tell me.”

Trunks worried his lip and shoveled a bit more food in his mouth. It would do no good to withhold details.

“When I say…. I’m going to hang out with people from school--”

“You lie?”

“No,” he assured. He’d never lied to his mother outright in his life as far as he remembered. “Just… not the typical hanging out.”

He really only had two friends: Gohan and his younger brother Goten. Goku treated him like a son, but since he was busy, he rarely saw the man except for when he would join them to train. Hanging out with Goten usually meant time training with whoever the pick of the day was: Piccolo, Korin of the Lookout Tower, and a myriad of other people who just happened to be friends with the Son family. 

“Is that… how you learned to fly? Goku taught you?”

“Piccolo, actually,” he said. 

Bulma hummed, “And this training have anything to do with your current injuries?”

“Tangentially.”

“Trunks,” she warned and he sighed standing up.

He might as well spill it all now.

*

It takes a week of intermittent questioning sessions and Bulma going with Trunks to visit the Sons to get the full picture. It’s a picture that she isn’t happy about and with the test results in her hand, it’s not one she can afford either. So today, after Trunks has explained how he synthesizes the healing ointment, she left her cozy house on the Saiyan compound and walked across grounds, through the training yard and straight to the royal chamber. 

When the doors open unannounced and unasked for, Vegeta knows exactly who it is and he doesn’t look up. He hears one of his captains move to intercept her. 

“His Majesty didn’t call for you, Consort.”

Bulma spared half a glance at the man before returning her eyes to Vegeta who dared not look at her.

“Tell me, Milquetoast Chauvinist No.2, what size is your armor?”

“What--”

“Because it must be too small as it’s cutting off your circulation if you think you have the right to speak to me that way and get away with it.”

“What?”

“In case you have forgotten, I  _ make _ your armor.  _ I  _ am the reason your little pity party of refugees were allowed to stay on Earth licking your wounds in the first place.  _ I  _  am the mother of the only Prince your sorry asses may ever see.”

“That  _ princess _ halflin--”

“Vegeta, deal with your lackey before I waste any more of my breath on discipline.”

He growled and opened his mouth.

“Sargo,” Vegeta said. “Let her through. I’m sure it’s important.”

It wasn’t often that Bulma made such an effort to come see him when he wasn’t asking her for something. He waved the rest of the inhabitants of the room out so that they could speak alone. 

“What do you want woman?”

“Perhaps you’d like to explain to me why your sycophants likes to terrorize our son?”

“The halfling has to learn the Saiyan way. Your Earth ways won’t serve him here.”

“His name is Trunks. He is your son and he is only  _ half- _ Saiyan. Mark my words if another one of your lackeys put their hands on him again, you will regret it.”

His eyes narrowed and he stood up, “You threaten me,  _ human _ ?”

“I promise all four feet of you,  _ Saiyan _ .”

He growled and she turned to walk out. He followed her as she opened up her controls to check on the progress of her projects as well as read the message from Trunks. 

“Do you hear me, woman?! You will not walk away from me!”

She turned the corner, cutting through the compound towards her quarters as he ranted on behind her. 

“Mom,” Trunks said, looking up from the documents in his hands. He dropped them, seeing and hearing Vegeta just behind her. 

Vegeta glanced at him for a moment before doing a double take to truly look at him and up into his face. Had he always been that tall? No. He’d been a child the last time he’d seen him with a scraped knee. 

“Your H-Highness--”

“Trunks,” Bulma said. “Vegeta is your father and you will address him as such. Now, I believe you mentioned having dinner with Goten before your trip?”

He looked between the two of them and immediately kneeled to gather up the pages.

“Uh, ye-yeah.”

“Go on and get ready,” she said lifting the pages from his hands. “I’ll take it from here.”

He nodded quickly and escaped to his room to grab his bag and leave, walking as quickly as he could past the man who simply stared at him.

“Are you surprised that he’s taller than you or more handsome?”

He growled, “A progeny of necessity--”

“Sit.” She shoved him down into a chair, catching him off guard, but he didn’t stand. 

“We have things to discuss and whether or not you like it, Trunks is your son. Posture all you’d like.”

He grit his teeth, “What is it, woman?”

Bulma took a deep breath, “I’m dying.”

*

Trunks fekl back on the training floor, his gi messed up from the blasts, but he was happy. His lavender tail wiggled around beside him as a shadow leaned over him. 

“Your flight has gotten better,” Goku commented, looking down at him. “And, more importantly, dinner is ready.”

Trunks smiled up at the man and nodded. 

As usual, the Son House was lively. Goten spoke about school and Trunks spoke about his studies as well. Working with his mother and grandfather in the lab had rocketed him through college already. Goku grinned, retelling how he and Bulma met and how insane their relationship had been. It’s a welcome feeling that Trunks is always thankful for. It’s even enough to distract him from the reality that his own father hardly recognized him. Chi-Chi gave him a new store of hair supplies and he traded some of the healing cream.

“Thank you dear,” Chi-Chi said. “Heaven knows how  _ quickly _ these get injured.”

“I made it pine scented this time,” he said. “So no one would try to eat it.”

She laughed and thanked him. In the morning, she waved them off. Training on Kami’s tower was always the best. 

“Mr. Piccolo!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't watched Team Four Star's parody of Broly's movie, you should. This entire story started because of that movie and the sheer lack of BrolyxTrunks stories in the world. 
> 
> I take no responsibility for this story...


	2. Loss And Celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why today?

_ Beep _ .

It’s an EKG he knows, but it sounds more like the ticking of a timer, counting down. He doesn’t know the starting time of this clock, nor where it is in the countdown, but he knows the end if coming faster than he’s ready for.

_ Beep. _

“Trunks,” she said, weakly, reaching for him through his burning eyes, cloudy and distressed. 

Today, of all days… Why today? Did he not regret this day enough? Had there been more than half of his life to hold up as a reason to regret this day? Why had the universe seen fit to add  _ this _ to the list.

_ Beep. _

“Your present,” she wheezed. Her breath hitched and sputtered into a cough.

“Shh,” Trunks soothed, “Mother, you need to save your strength. There has to be another specialist, a  _ better _ specialist. There has to be something--”

_ Beep. _

“There’s nothing they can do, love,” she said softly. “Please, sweetheart.”

Trunks shook his head, “I-I can’t. Please. Please.”

_ Don’t leave me,  _  he thought desperately, squeezing her hand gently.  _ Don’t leave me alone with them. Don’t leave me. _

Her hands were so thin now. She’d lost so much weight that he could barely recognize her. Her usually brilliant turquoise hair was dull with sickness and stringy. His mother, the strongest person he’d ever known reduced to this. 

She was dying. 

_ God, please. _

_ Beep. _

She smiled, “Open the gift, dear. Please?”

Trunks snuffled, but grabbed the present bringing it close to her. Somewhere in the room there was Chi-Chi, Gohan, Goten, Goku, Yamcha holding back their own mourning to let him have this moment with her. 

Her last moments.

_ Yamcha, _ he thought bitterly. Her ex was here, but her-- his own father, her mate wasn’t here.

_ Beep. _

“There has to be something,” Trunks said. “Something--”

Bulma shook her head, “There’s nothing, sweetheart.”

Trunk shook his head, sniffling, “No, please, M-Mom… please.”

_ Don’t leave me _ . 

Bulma knew what he meant, but smiled anyway. 

_ Beep. _

“Th-there has to be  _ something _ .”

She squeezed his hand, “Please, sweetheart? Open your present.”

His jaw trembled as he sniffled. 

He was seventeen now. Really, he should feel older, but he isn’t ready for this. It had been him and Bulma for so long, two outsiders on the Saiyan base, together all this time. 

She couldn’t leave him. 

“Okay,” he hiccuped and Chi-Chi handed him the box, before retreating back, wiping her eyes and turning into Goku’s arms. 

She couldn’t watch this. She couldn’t be strong enough for this. Goku squeezed her close and watched Trunks’s shoulders shake as he opened the present. 

“ _ O tanjobi o meritou _ ,” Bulma sang softly. “ _ Aishiteru, chisa-otoko. A, hokoridesu you.. _ O tanjobi o meritou. ”*

Goku heard himself singing the words, smiling a little. Bulma insisted that the birthday song be more personal. They each had their own version, Trunks was no different. No one sang the same words as each phrase was supposed to be special to what the birthday person meant to them. 

Trunks swallowed the sound of distress and opened the box, only seeing the familiar Capsule Corporation blue. His jaw trembled, looking at it and taking her hand. 

“The classic,” she said. “Still had one in the back of my closet back home.”

She wrinkled her nose. Her cousin had taken the Capsule Corporation style in the direction she saw fit but Bulma had never cared for it.

“M-Mom… I…”

“Of course it’s been slightly modified, but you have the figure for it.”

It’s a wet laugh that only makes him squeeze her hand tighter.

“The keys to the lab are in the drawer. I’ve reset the access codes. It’s all yours.”

“Mom, please--”

“You won’t have to sneak around anymore. I’ve spoken with your father. He is stubborn, Trunks, but he can’t ignore the truth.”

“You can’t--”

“I love you, dear.” She said. 

Trunks met her eyes, watching them close. 

_ Beep. _

“I love you, too. Please don’t--”

_ Beep... _

His heart tripped as her body went lax and that peaceful smile remained beneath blue eyes like his own that saw nothing. Chi-Chi broke the silence, sobbing into Goku’s shoulder. Goten and Gohan teared up. Trunk felt his body moving, grabbing the defibrillator to try and revive her, screaming that she had to wake up. That she couldn’t leave him alone here. 

“Please, Mom! Mom!Mom!”

_ Beep… _

Goku moved to place a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from turning up the voltage and trying again. 

“She’s gone, Trunks,” he said softly. “You have to let her go.”

The paddles dropped from his hands and he fell to the bed and pulled her close. No tears came, just a hard stare into nothing. Her body was still warm, unmoving. Perhaps some part of him was just hoping that she just needed his presence to remind her that she had to wake up. Some part of him just couldn’t accepted it. He couldn’t say how long he sat there, only that by the time he surfaced, she’d grown cold to touch and stiff. The sky was dark and the decorations had been taken down. 

Someone had placed a blanket around his shoulders, but there was no one in the room with him. There was no one on the compound for him any longer. 

A cousin of Bulma’s came to organize the funeral as Saiyans didn’t have any funeral rites they cared to give Bulma. She found him there, shock pale, sleepless and clinging to her, simply staring out to nowhere. 

While he wasn’t huge, he was muscled enough that had he been coherent enough to realize what was happening, she and the mortuary staff would have had a problem. He wore all black and the Capsule Corp jacket to the funeral. 

It had obviously been her jacket, cropped in a bolero style. 

_ Probably to show off her midriff, _ he thought wryly, wondering how cold he must be on the inside to find it funny. He didn’t return to the Saiyan compound. Instead, he stayed with his cousin at the old family house, worked at Capsule Corporation and visited the SOns. It was a month before Saiyans appeared at Capsule Corporation demanding that he return to the compound to answer Vegeta’s summons. 

The two leered at him in his mother’s jacket over his work clothes, but he didn’t feel anything about it. The jacket, though made of pure denim, was heavy. It felt like it was anchoring him somehow, keeping him from floating away on his despair.  

He went silently, not bothering to protest no matter how much he would have liked to scream at the man. They arrived on the grounds rather quickly on the flying car they'd taken to pick him up. Trunks stroked the cushions with a small smile. It was one of the oldest, one if  first that he and Bulma built together for the compound. He’d been about four years old at the time.

The journey from the landing space to the throne room felt shorter than  it had to be. Trunks was preoccupied with his memories.

Upon his arrival, Vegeta sized him up,  his eyes, and told him that he'd be under another technician while the man learned Bulma’s system effective immediately. He was to serve as an Earth translator for him.

“Also, be sure to be present when Kakarot and his brood arrive for the annual tournament. You may be worthless, but you are of the royal line.”

Trunks said nothing, choosing instead to stuff his hands in the pockets of his mother’s jacket and turn to walk back towards his section of the compound. The annual tournament was supposed to be a friendly competition between the refugee Saiyans and the Goku’s family and friends. As it stood, the Son family held the overall title still. Goku and Vegeta never battled any longer. It had been when Gohan had won his first match that Vegeta had focused so hard on getting a son. This year, Goten was participating, but Trunks had been overlooked. 

He was always frustrated with Trunks, from the day he was born. No tail, no real fighting drive--the only thing he'd taken from his father was the shape of his eyes it seemed.

When the door of the house slid close behind him, Trunks let out a sigh and walled towards the mantle. Bulma’s picture sat there, a candid photo from her younger days permed hair and a tight orange dress beneath her Capsule Corp jacket. His cousin had found it and given it to him after the funeral and Trunks had framed it. 

She was hanging onto something, wrench in her mouth and grinning at the camera. The note on the back said that it was taken five years before he was born in Capsule Corporation’s lab while building the power generator for the Saiyan Compound.

That was how he wanted to remember her always. He took the photo with him into the lab and sunk down on his bright blue bean bag chair. He placed the photo in the red chair beside him.

“Play surveillance notes on the Saiyan car Project.”

The screen flickered and revealed the log. He leaned back, seeing first his mother holding a wrench and instructing a much younger version of himself. He leaned back listening to her explain the nuances of metallurgy to a four year old and found himself slipping into sleep, dreaming of all the things they’d planned to build together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Happy Birthday to you. I love you, my little boy. Oh, how proud I am of you. Happy Birthday to you.


	3. Blind Rage And Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So about that rage...

“Hi Vegeta!”

If the mere memory of lying broken and beaten in that desert wasteland wasn’t enough to make him hate Kakarot, then his always cheery voice should have been enough. He wondered once if Kakarot was just perpetually high on whatever Earth concoction suited him, but after years of interacting with the man, he knew it was just Kakarot’s demeanor. 

He fucking hated it. 

This low class Saiyan was king of a planet, had defeated him in battle, and had the nerve to act like they were best buddies.

“Kakarot,” he replied in a stiff greeting. “You’re looking as idiotic as usual.”

As usual, the man’s face fell only to perk back up with the shake of his head. If there was one thing that was to be said for his rival, the man never seemed to fall into despair. Vegeta simply assumed it was because  he was simply too simple to know what despair truly was.

_ Then again,  _  he thought. Kakarot had not even known his own name before Raditz had arrived, mere years before Vegeta and his followers had. He was also a descendant of a low-class Saiyan, so how could he expect anything better?

He squealed a little bit, “I can’t wait for this year’s tournament to get started! Trunks has really been improving--”

_ The boy? _

“What?” Vegeta asked, pausing Goku’s annual rambling about the tournament. “What are you blathering about this year, Kakarot?”

“Speaking of,” Goku said. “Chi-Chi says you really should come over for dinner. We’re kind of the last remaining Saiyans in the universe right? We should at least see each other  _ twice _ a year. Maybe Christmas or--”

“ _ Kakarot, _ ” he growled. “I have no time for your blathering. What are you talking about?”

Goku blinked and frowned, “Trunks, your  _ son? _ I know you’re busy and all that, but you at least remember that you have one right?”

“Of course I know I have a  _ progeny _ ! How could I forget your idiotic gamble?”

Always one to not react to insult, Goku crossed his arms and frowned, tilting his head in confusion. 

“Then you must know that he’s pretty powerful these days….Right? I mean, I thought you were training him.”

Vegeta snorted, “You must have hit your head. That  _ halfling _ has the power level of a human, worse than a low-class Saiyan. Why would I waste my time training  _ him? _ ”

Goku hummed, frowning at Vegeta. He knew that the other was busy, running the Saiyans of Earth, trying to locate others, generally being angry, but he hadn’t imagined that he knew next to nothing about his son. Goku was busy too, running things in the Ox King’s kingdom, keeping peace on Earth, meeting with people, training with his kids. It had been a long time since he’d managed to simply relax after all. Despite all that, he at the very least knew what his kids’ power levels and strengths were. 

Well, so long as it had to do with fighting, he left the school to Chi-Chi. 

“Maybe you don’t know who I’m talking about,” Goku said.

Vegeta’s eye widened as Goku fell into his chair and Vegeta took a seat. 

Vegeta looked at Kakarot and let his eyes drifted down to the tournament floor. There were of course Kakarot’s usual toadies conversing with one another, his Saiyan elite guards, but he hadn’t--

“Trunks!”

Vegeta’s eyes locked on to the boy walking in and he could have groaned. His hair had grown a few more inches since the last time he’d seen him. Rather than the standard Saiyan dress, he wore a black shirt, pants, Earth boots, and that ridiculous jacket. If his eyes didn’t deceive him, it was the same jacket that Bulma had been wearing when they first met. 

_ King of Saiyans… do all Saiyans have such poor fashion choices? _

He grit his teeth and looked over to where Gohan was sitting, speaking with the Namekian. All of Goku’s children were wearing versions of his orange and blue gi. While low-class, they at least  _ looked _ as if they were here to fight. 

_ That woman has turned my progeny into a pansy,  _  he thought, glaring down at Trunks. 

*

If there was anywhere he didn’t want to be at the moment, aside from this plane of existence, it was this tournament. Every year the Saiyans of Earth and the refugees got together with their closest allies and decided to have a martial arts tournament, much like the Martial Arts Tournament of Earth. 

Bulma always insisted that he should go, but he never did and now he’d been all but ordered to come by the man he should have been calling father. The wind picked up his hair as Goten floated over to where Trunks had decided to sit down. The tournament floor had been rebuilt shortly after the last tournament, new and gleaming, ready to be destroyed again. 

He wanted to go home. 

He wanted to still be in bed with this ache in his chest.

_ You’re too handsome to look so glum, Trunks! _

He swallowed and screwed his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. 

_ Mom, I-- _

“Trunks~!” Goten called, waving enthusiastically, pulling Trunks out of his thoughts. 

Trunks looked up at Goten floating above him, his tail waving around happily. He smiled weakly at Goten. Goten was always so upbeat, but knowing his father and his elder brother, Trunks knew it was just a familial disposition.

“Are you going to fight this year?” Goten asked and flew around him. “How come your--”

Trunks shook his head and Goten shut his mouth.

“I’m just here on orders,” Trunks said.  “And maybe to watch you guys wipe the floor with some of these jerks.”

Goten pulled his legs together and hovered beside him, “How are you doing?”

“Still alive it would seem.”

Goten pat his shoulder, “If you need someone to talk to, or just somewhere else, you know our house is always open to you.”

“Thanks Goten,” Trunks said, looking at him. “I--”

“I see the  _ princess _ is just here to observe  _ real  _  Saiyan warriors.”

Goten grit his teeth and glared at the source of the voice behind him. The wind picked up again carrying the strawberry and cream scent of his shampoo and healing cream into the air. It wasn’t often that you could get a male member of the Son house angry. Goku had passed on his generally cheerful attitude to his sons. When they aren’t happy and carefree, they had the tendency to grind their opponents into dust and while Trunks would love to see a few people ground to dust, he didn’t want it done before the tournament started. 

_ Please just shut up. _

Another’s voice, sleazy and dripping with lust said, “Try not to get too hot and bothered at the sight of real men,  _ Princess _ . You do have to reserve your purity for your future husband.”

Someone laughed, “Whatever Saiyan the King deems good enough to take you off his hands.”

Goten growled and looked at Trunks who didn’t react at all, keeping an eye on Goten. 

He noted the confusion on Goten’s face and the anger, but said nothing. He could almost here Goten’s questions. 

_ Why did they call him Princess? What did Trunks purity have to do with them? Why was Trunks simply spectating-- _

“Hey--” Trunks held up a hand and shook his head. 

“Don’t bother.”

Goten frowned but said nothing as the other Saiyans snickered and continued on with their conversation about who Vegeta would gift his  _ princess _ to.

“You should head back,” Trunks said, nodding towards Gohan and the Earth side of the field.

“We’re going to talk about this,” Goten said with a glare before talking stock of the men and leaving.

Trunks sighed. 

Great, another thing to think about later. No doubt the entire Earth side of the field would have questions, would be worried and all around pissed off. Goten was chatty. Piccolo had super hearing. Trunks saw Goten take a seat and was eternally grateful that he didn’t seem to mention anything to Gohan or the rest of the band of fighters. Piccolo however looked over to him pointedly. Trunks reclined back in his seat and listened to the wind, waiting for the event to get under way so he could go back to the lab and mourn in peace. 

Goten had the first match and seemed to relish beating a member of Tula’s unit into a pulp on the arena floor. Due to the numbers, it more often than not happened that Saiyans would be matched against one another, this year was no different. Those matches didn’t really count towards the annual prize, but it did count for bragging rights on the compound. 

Tula was up against another general and when he won, the conversation took a turn that Trunks expected. Perhaps because he was seventeen now, the age of majority among Saiyans, that it was like this. Of all his attackers and tormentors on compound, Tula and his men were the group he was most cautious of. They’d tried to kill him when he was eight and as he’d gotten older their malice had turned to lust. They’d gotten bolder in their comments and their attacks as he’d gotten more efficient at avoiding them. Today, they were talking about fucking him and betting on who would get in his pants first. WHo could make him scream the loudest. 

Goten winced, looking at Trunks who only watched his father listening with only one ear as they talked. It was talk, sure, but the meaning behind it was telling. Goten couldn’t hear it, but Piccolo was glad to pass along information and he knew that his father and Vegeta could hear it, being closer to the ring. 

“Vegeta,” Kakarot started to his left. “Don’t you think you should say something?”

Vegeta said nothing, not even looking at Trunks who continued to stare at him. He had her eyes and her brains too, he knew. He couldn’t look at him without appearing weak, couldn’t step in. Trunks had to suck it up and deal with his place in the heirarchy. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was any grounding in what Tula and Broco were speaking about. A halfling, more Earth than Saiyan, more woman than man or not, Trunks was still of the royal line. He would never give his blessing to just anyone. 

Besides, he had plans for Trunks if his communications with a planet several galaxies away went well. 

“Even though his mother was human, she passed on some good genes.”

The man licked his lips and that’s when Trunks’s eyes shot towards the ring. A clear, intense blue. 

“Hey,” Trunks said, his voice soft and clear, cutting through the gossip and the sounds in the arena like a brisk wind. “Show some fucking respect.”

Goku stiffened, feeling the slight spike in Trunks’ ki. 

Tula and Broco laughed at him. 

“Respect, Princess?” Tula began. “For a dead, loud-mouthed consort? I see nothing to respect.”

Broco laughed. 

“Mark me, ignoramus,” he glared. “I will end you.”

The two of them laughed as Broco left the ring and Tula floated closer to where Trunks sat. He looked up at him, glaring, his blue eyes burning bright. 

Tula smirked. He was beautiful, truly. Those blue eyes were a marvel to behold, soft pale skin, the scent of strawberries. He was a wet dream without the consequences a woman came with. He wasn’t fully grown yet, but despite that he was sturdy enough that if Tula got a little rough with him it wouldn’t be too bad. 

“Is that a challenge?” Tula asked slyly. 

Vegeta stood up, his heart tripping. A challenge? From the royal line to a commander? Not good. He opened his mouth, but Tula continued.

“Dear Princess,” Tula smirked. “Do you understand what it means for one of the Saiyan elite to lose to a commander?”

Trunks’ eyes narrowed. 

“By the ancient rites of the Saiyan race, when you lose I will have governing right over you for a full night.”

Trunks could have laughed, that sounded like some fucked up Saiyan logic if he ever heard it. Tula was a commander, a powerful one that had led several men into battle to conqueror planets before the destruction of Vegeta, afterwards he’d followed the young King into battle. Bulma had warned him once that Tula was a man who was looking for power, power that he felt due to him.

_ Stay away from him Trunks, _ she’d say.  _ He means you no good. _

She was right. 

“And when I win?”

Tule laughed again, “King Vegeta, my liege, will you give your blessing for your progeny to engage this challenge?”

Vegeta grunted, his stomach twisting as the rest of the Saiyans looked towards him. Kakarot said nothing as he considered it. When Trunks lost, it could be the end of plans that were not yet solid. At the same time, should he refuse on Trunks’ behalf, he’d lose all respect from most of the Saiyans and mostly Tula who commanded quite a great deal of respect among the troops. Saiyan warrior politics were tricky like that. He’d been trying to think of a way to keep Tula appeased or suppress him finally for years. Tula’s fascination with Trunks may be a way of doing it and as it was the most pressing matter--

“You have my blessing,” Vegeta said looking at Trunks. “If you are big enough to challenge any one, you should be big enough to accept the consequences, boy.”

Kakarot winced, “Vegeta, I don’t think--”

“Prove that there is at least  _ half _ a Saiyan in you.”

Trunks’ lip curled in a slight smirk, “Do I get to name my prize?”

Tula licked his lips, letting his eyes drag over Trunks’ body as he stood up. 

“By all means, Princess. Gold, jewels--”

“You and your entire unit’s tails removed permanently.”

Vegeta’s eyes widened and Goku let out a low whistle. He didn’t know much about Saiyan culture, only what he’d been able to get from what little Vegeta had been willing to show him, but he knew that removal of a tail as a result of losing combat was the highest form of shame that a Saiyan could endure. Most preferred death over it for reasons he still didn’t understand. Normally, if a Saiyan’s tail was removed, they’d simply have it restored. Trunks was asking for surgical damage to be done, a constant reminder of the loss. 

_ What did this guy do to you? _ He wondered.

“Or killed. Your choice.”

Tula snorted, “By all means, Princes. I didn’t realize you harbored such anger for me and my men.”

Trunks stepped up on the edge of the seating. “COntempt is for those worthy. I simply want you to die in shame and go on to meet my mother’s wrath or wallow in it for the rest of your pathetic lives.”

Tula glared and met Trunks’ eyes, “I will be a very  _ demanding _ task master.”

“And I’ll take great joy in removing your tail permanently myself.”

Goten floated over, grabbing Trunks’ arm. 

“Trunks, are you sure about this? I know he and his goons made you mad, but that’s--”

“If it was Chi-Chi,” Trunk cut in. “What would you do?”

Goten released him and looked over to where his mother sat beside Goku before nodding, “Knock ‘em dead.”

Trunks shrugged off his jacket and gave it to Goten, “Keep it safe for me?”

Goten took it and flew back towards his side of the arena with it.

“The Saiyan race is not one to escape by death,” Vegeta said. “Should Commander Tula lose, he and his men will have their tails removed according to the ancient rules of the Saiyan race. Should he win, he will have free reign over the Princess for a full day.”

Kakarot looked at him, “Why exactly do you call him  _ princess? _ Is that a Saiyan thing?”

Chi-Chi’s eyes watered with fury and she stood up to walk away. She heard about Tula from Bulma and from Trunks while treating his injuries. She'd promised Bulma that she'd look after him like another son when she was gone. Chi Chi had no idea that life on the Saiyan compound was so rough that Trunks, sweet, gentle Trunks, had reason to look like that towards anyone.

“I don’t believe I can stomach being in your presence any longer  _ Vegeta,”  _ she said as she left their box and headed to sit on the sidelines.

“It is the title that I have given him,” Vegeta said. 

He returned to his seat and watched Tula float back onto the arena floor. Trunks stepped into the air and floated there as well. The Saiyans gasped and Vegeta sat forward.

“When did he learn to fly?” Vegeta asked. 

Flight for the Saiyan race was a gift and skill taught and hard to master. Not every Saiyan could fly, but warriors, for the most part, had the strength to do so. It should have been impossible for Trunks to fly, there he was, floating with no regard to gravity. 

“Oh, a while ago.”

“ _ A while? _ How long is a while?!”

Kakarot hummed with that dopey expression, “Years ago. Right around the time Goten learned to fly. I think Piccolo taught him how. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

Vegeta sat back and watched Trunks land and set his stance. 

Tula was a commander of the highest class. While Trunks had already proven that he was at least partly Saiyan, a bit of flight wouldn’t be enough. Tula had tactical experience, training. 

Trunks’ stomach turned as Tula eyed him, licking his lips. His eyes were filled with a million raunchy ideas for what he would do with his prize, but he bet that at least part of that would be to get himself in line for the throne. 

“You may begin, “Vegeta announced and Tula came flying towards Trunks. 

The first thing Trunks realized was that Tula was slower than him. He was he physically stronger, but the power felt hollow as if he was simply punching with his muscles and not his ki.

“Trunks has really improved. He could probably give me a tough time these days.” 

Vegeta sat back, “He is my progeny.”

Kakarot snorted, “YOu can’t sense his power, can you?”

Vegeta snorted, “I can see it clearly. He will lose.”

Goku shook his head, looking at the scanner over Vegeta’s eye. “I would have thought that by now you’d learn those things don’t tell the full story.”

Trunks went flipping through the air from a solid blow Tula dealt him. Tula appeared behind him, grabbing him around his neck and holding tight. 

Trunks’ stomach heaved as Tula licked the shell of his ear and his erection pressed against Trunk’s ass. 

“I’m going to have fun with you tonight. Starting with that pretty mouth--”

Trunks focused a beam of ki to cut through Tula’s side and rammed his head back into the man’s nose.  Once free, he grabbed Tula’s leg and swung him around, sending him flying into the arena floor. 

Trunks hovered, glaring down at him as Tula chuckled and struggled to get up. 

“Stronger than I thought, Princess. Save some energy for tonight though.”

Goten worried his lip. Tunks had improved considerably, not so frightened, not so easily subdued now as he’d been when he first started training with them. He remembered being inspired by Trunks’ reasoning. How he didn’t want to be afraid to leave the safety of Bulma’s section of the compound. How he wanted to be recognized as someone to be respected. He’d been so badly beat up  and only eight years old or so. Despite Trunks’ new strength, Tula definitely had the advantage of skill.Trunks held his own, but he grew tired trying to avoid Tula’s attacks.

Finally, Tula caught Trunks off guard and sent him flying into the arena. He landed on Trunks’s chest and stomped. Tula kneeled over him, straddling his chest and wrapped his hands around Trunks’s throat. 

“Let’s hear that pretty voice of yours. Come now, I think my men are anxious for a preview of tonight while I’m owning your ass.”

Trunks grit his teeth against the cries of pain, barely grunting when Tula slammed a fist into his stomach and pinned him down. 

“Bet you’ll sound just like your whore of a mother. Should have heard her scream when the King took her.” Tula laughed, punching harder until a rib broke. “You would have thought she was a virgin.”

“ _ Don’t. _ ” Trunk grit out, his eyes burning from the pain and the rage that was clouding his vision. 

“Bet you’ll taste just as sweet as you smell, but I won’t let you rest. I’ll be owning you all night. You’ll be so wrecked the King will probably just give you to me and my men for sport.”

“ _ Don’t.” _

A bolt of lightning twisted around his arm as the sky darkened. Blood slid out of his mouth, but Trunks saw nothing, heard nothing but those words. 

_ Your whore of a mother. _

_ Princess. _

_ Halfling. _

_ Worthless. _

_ “You’ll look good with your ass in the air, Princess.” _

Goten flinched and looked up to the darkening sky along with the rest of the Earth’s side of the small arena.  The little spike of power, the darkening of the sky, the shaking of the ground. 

“You don’t think…” Goten started looking at Gohan who only stared in shock at where Tula was pounding Trunks into the ground. 

There was no mistaking the aura, a soft golden glow growing brighter. Lightning twisting around the body in the ground that had yet to cry out even as Tula yelled. 

“ _ Come on, Princess. Scream for your new master! _ ”

Goku stood up, “Vegeta end the match.”

“Surrender or death,” Vegeta said. “That is how Saiyan matches end.”

Goku growled, “Don’t be an  _ idiot _ can you not--”

Goku’s words were cut off by the bolt of lightning that crashed down and Trunks’s screaming.

“FUCK YOU!”

Tula went flying away from the tower of light as Trunks stood up. His lavender hair flashing gold, his eyes pupiless and enraged. The wind rushed and carried lightning around him. 

“ _ I’ll show you what it means to scream, _ ” Trunks yelled. “ _ I’ll show you to talk about her that way! _ ”

Vegeta couldn’t breathe.

There on the arena floor. His progeny, glowing with the legendary aura. 

“What a quick study,” Kakarot said. “He… definitely takes after Bulma.”

Goten let out a whoop, “You look so cool!”

Gohan stood up, ready to stop Trunks as he marched towards Tula, his footprints breaking the arena floor. 

“ _ I’ll teach you respect in a way that your tiny brain can understand!” _

He vanished for a moment, appearing behind Tula and landing a hard blow that crashed him into the arena floor. He grabbed him and threw him up flying after him and beat him in the air. 

Vegeta stared on in horror as Goku looked to Gohan. He remembered clearly the power the rage afforded him and how easy it was to slip into that rage. Tula cried out in pain as Trunks ripped his tail out of his body and heel kicked him back to the ground. Energy blasts rained down from Trunks’ hands as he only managed to scream, lost to his rage. 

Trunks had snapped. 

When he floated down, Tula could barely crawl out of the crater, bleeding , coughing up blood and broken.

Trunks shoved him to the ground a sick reminder of the way he’d shoved Trunks to the ground as a child. A foot on his back, his heel grinding down. 

“4th lumbar down,” Trunks said, pressing until he heard it snap and Tula cried out in pain. 

“Shin.”

“Shoulder.”

“4th rib.”

“Kidney.”

The arena stared in silence watching Trunks stomp on Tula turning him into a mess crying out in pain, lost to his rage and the sound of bones snapping. 

“I surrender!” Tula gasped as Trunks continued to stomp on him. 

“How does it feel Tula?!  _ How does it fucking feel to be stomped on like you’re nothing? To be abused because you’re weaker? How does it feel?” _

“Trunks stop! You’ll kill him,” Goten yelled, jumping up to run towards him. 

“Take it back!” Trunks said, turning him over to punch Tula in the face. “Take it back! Take it back! You ever talk about my mother that way, I will fucking  _ end  _ you!”

Whatever Tula had to say was lost in the gurgling of blood and the crunching of bone. 

Goten grabbed him, pulling him back and forced him to let Tula go. 

“Trunks, you won. It’s over!”

He struggled for a moment, but Goten shoved the jacket in his face. The blue brought his eyes back and his hair faded to its normal lavender. He lost his glow and his body relaxed. He took the jacket in his hands and let his eyes drift towards the bloody mess he’d made of Tula. 

“You with me?”

He looked at Goten and nodded, “I-I’m here.”

Goten let out a relieved breath, “Good. YOu’ll have to teach me that one day… sans rage though.”

He chuckled lightly and shrugged back on the jacket. There was blood everywhere it seemed. His body hurt like hell, but he didn’t register it completely as Goten wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled an arm over his shoulder. 

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you healed up.”

His eyes drifted towards his father and Goku. Goku grinned, cheering for him.

“You were so cool!” Goku yelled. 

Vegeta only stared at him, in shock. Maybe in awe, maybe regret, he wasn’t sure. 

After getting him to the medbay to get his injuries looked at, Goten helped fly him to Bulma’s memorial where they sat together quietly. 

_ Wish you were here, _ he thought. 

“I bet she’s cheering from the otherworld,” Goten said. “And waiting for the day to tell Vegeta he was wrong.”

He chuckled and nodded. 

Yes, that sounded like his mother alright.


	4. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so there was Broly, the Legendary Super Saiyan.

“All hail Broly, Legendary Super Saiyan! Our hero and Savior.”

The sound of the congregation was enough to make his ears ring, but he only smiled slightly, looking out to the crowd that cheered. His father beamed with pride as he kneeled and tilted his head to accept the crown from Ware, an older Saiyan that had insisted in re-enacting the tradition as a mark of the Saiyan people being from Freiza’s reign. 

It’s such an old custom that the meaning of it was almost lost to time. The crown had managed to be saved, as well as the accompanying bands, with the ancient weapons that Ware absconded with from explosion of the planet. The crown marked him as having the highest power level, the Legendary Super Saiyan in a long line of Super Saiyans. The gold chest plate meant he was a warrior. The golden bands signified his status as a member of the elite guard. The girdle and boots made him a commander. The blood red cloth over his white pants had been a matter of family colors. Though the reign of Freiza was over, the tyrant being dead, the Saiyans still wore their Freizan garb. Broly, having not been born at the time of Vegeta’s destruction, had no such clothing to wear.  Paragus and his mother had been off planet with a group of Saiyans. Broly had been born nearly 30 years after in space. Paragus and the other generals cheered. Along with simply securing a home planet for the small band of Saiyans, there was also the matter of the new refugees. 

Broly watched the festivities with little interest. Feasts were for joy, for the common people, for couples and families… not something like him. He looked down at his hands, clean now, but not really. He could practically feel the sticky red liquid still on his hands. 

He left the festivities to find something to do. He found himself in the rejuvenating baths attached to his home, looking up at the night sun as the water eddied around him. He could feel it even now, the power in him warm, scalding just beneath the surface. 

There was no more fighting to do, nothing more, so now what was he meant to do? This Legendary Super Saiyan in a time of peace?

He left the baths and wandered towards the just finished nursery. The man manning the desk looked at him covetously, perhaps hoping to entice Broly into donating his sperm for the next generation of Saiyan warrior. No, not with him and his father alone to raise them. He wouldn’t raise another war torn soul in this time of peace.

He smiled wryly. He was the  _ Legendary Super Saiyan _ . Since birth, he’d been tapped into his ki far deeper than anyone should have been. He’d communed with spirits that Saiyans worshipped as gods. He was from a warrior culture that held strength above all things. 

_ And it had nearly killed them all, _ he thought bitterly. 

He walked through the recombinant building with a slight smile. The next generation would be there in just a few years, born into the same world that had nearly destroyed them all and if his father’s excitement with finding the once Prince, Vegeta, was anything to go by, there was a good chance that the Saiyans would find themselves looking into the depths of destruction once more before long.

Not even Broly’s strength could stop that. 

He flew from the recombinant lab towards the land he’d been granted, the portion of this continent that he’d claimed on behalf of the Thelians. It was forested, peaceful. It would require work to make it habitable, but they, like the sensible Saiyans, were simply glad to have a place to call home again. For now they would be living in the space ships that they arrived in. 

“Sir Broly?” 

He turned to see Leah there, draped in her gown and the turban of her people that marked her as a princess. 

“Will you not join the festivities?” She asked coming closer. “You have fought hard and deserve to rest.”

He smiled at her and turned to rest his hands on her shoulders, “You need not fear, Leah. You and your sisters, your people, your father, have no need to fear enslavement or mistreatment.”

Her jaw tensed. 

“I don’t want nor need you to offer yourself to me to secure that. You have my word.”

She swallowed and ducked her head. He tilted her head up. 

“It is… customary for the king to offer his daughters to the savior of his people,” she said. 

Broly shook his head. When did children become bargaining tools?

“You and your sisters are welcome to stay with me, but I ask nothing of you.”

He moved back and stepped into the air. “I’m going to survey the area, perhaps find a place far enough from the Saiyan settlement that you all can settle in peace… I know my people have the tendency to get rowdy.”

She watched him fly away, trying to figure out exactly what he meant when he said that they had nothing to fear from him. 

_ A hero, _ her mother once told her.  _ Does not do so for reward, but for what is good _ .

She smiled. She’d had her doubts, but she turned back to the party, going to find her sisters in the room they’d been staying in to tell them what Broly had to say about it. Whether or not they could rely on his word was yet to be seen, but Broly, unlike many of the Saiyan they’d encountered, and many men of Thelia had yet to lie to them about anything. 

When Broly returned, drawing up on a piece of Thelian technology, his father cut him off from retiring. 

“Hello Father,” he said kindly.

“Broly, my son. How is it that the man of the hour is not present for his own celebration?”

Broly chuckled as the man clapped him on the shoulder. His one functioning eye looking at him with so much pride that it made him warm. His father, for all of his issues and traumas, was a good man. He’d raised Broly with a gentle and firm hand. Ware had taught him the true history of the Saiyan race. They’d helped him channel his power. 

“You seem to be in a better mood than when I left,” he commented. “I assume that’s why you seem so eager to keep me from sleep.”

Paragus chuckled and pulled him along. “I promise that it won’t take long, my son. I’ve established a time to speak with King Vegeta and Ware at once. The King has asked you be there.”

Broly nodded, coming along. The return of a King Vegeta meant the world to the current Saiyans, a bit of normality, a bit of a return to what they saw as their glorious status in the universe. 

The man who appeared on the screen wasn’t what he expected when people spoke of the son of the former King. For one, he seemed so angry. One would think that he would be more happy to know that he and how many other Saiyans he had with him weren’t alone in the universe.

“Broly, is it?” Vegeta asked looking at him. 

“It is, your Highness,” he said. 

His eyes drifted over him, “Somehow I imagined you… bigger.”

Broly’s eyebrow shifted upwards, “I tend not to walk around fully transformed.”

Vegeta huffed, “Right. Tell me, Broly, are you truly the Legendary Super Saiyan? From what I remember of Paragus, he wasn’t particularly gifted as a Saiyan. Ware has assured me, but I well know his penchant for  _ tales _ .”

Broly would have rolled his eyes, but he only tilted his head and let his ki rise. Slowly, the room shook a bit as he let his ki rise. His dark hair turned blue then gold before gaining its legendary green tint. His muscles grew, his body grew with them, making him taller, bigger. The man beside Vegeta seemed to be terrified, petrified at the transformation. Broly felt the transformation settle, holding steady just long enough for Vegeta to get the point. He dialed his ki down before the computers fried themselves. He felt his calm restored, the push for control and power ease out of him and regarded the King. 

“A sufficient show,” Vegeta commented. “I believe you should have reason to celebrate Ware.”

The man looked up. 

“It isn’t every day that the coronation of a king, the establishment of a kingdom, and a true Saiyan warrior can be honored in the ways of Saiyan lore.”

“You mean to say that you have a child, King Vegeta?” Paragus asked shocked. 

“I do. Transmit the coordinates of New Vegeta and we shall make the necessary preparations to arrive before the end of the year.”

Broly glanced at Ware as a Saiyan Knight moved to transmit the data and the connection ended. 

“Broly,” Paragus began. 

“No need father,” Broly said. “I have long since understood exactly what finding the King would entail.”

Paragus blinked as he turned. 

“Perhaps with the celebrations in our future, the Saiyan race can find some measure of peace.”

Ware smiled, “Commander Broly, I will meet with you to answer questions you may have.

“Thank you, Ware. For now, I retire.”

Paragus nodded and watched his son leave, struck with an odd sense that he should talk with him, but the words didn’t come. Broly had taken to his responsibility as a light of hope for the Saiyan race to regain their former glory well. He wore the glory easily and seemed to shrug it off just as easily.


	5. Departure

Trunks frowned at the newest request. While the system recognized it as an old one, Bulma--

His heart twinged, no less painful than the day she died, yet somehow he was still alive. 

_ It will get better,  _  Chi Chi had told him, yet it seemed more likely that he had just begun to build a tolerance to the pain. 

It had been months since her death. After the tournament, not much had changed. Tula and his men had suffered through the tail removal ritual. Tula himself was still recuperating in the med bay. They all seemed to continue to grumble about Saiyan elite blood, disgrace, halflings and whatever else they knew wasn't a hot button. Which really meant everything that wasn't Bulma. Despite their grumbling, the rest of the compound seemed to have gained a new respect for him. They left him alone, addressed him as "princess" without the usual sneer and mocking in their voice. 

Best of all, Trunks was now free to walk around the Saiyan compound without fearing. He didn't have to hide his flight. He could train in the courtyard if he wanted to though he preferred to train with the Son family. He could escape the place that had once been his sole refuge on the compound without ever being too far.

"Visitor approaching," the lab computer notified him as he went searching for the files the request referenced. 

_ What do they need a ship that large for? _

"Identify," he said absently.

"Your king."

He jumped and spun around to see Vegeta standing there. His dark eyes darted around the room before looking at Trunks. 

"You--"

"Your victory has made you unaware. If I'd meant to kill you, I could have quite easily."

Trunks shut his mouth, his spine stiffened and Vegeta watched with an odd amount of interest. The halfling was taller than him. His hair had grown again to that girlish length, tied back with a band. He wasn't wearing the Capsule Corporation jacket at the moment, but he was wearing one of their shirts. A relic from his visit with his human family he was sure. 

Trunks regarded the man. He'd always imagined his father, bigger. King Vegeta seemed to commanded a lot of respect, yet he couldn't find a reason to care, to respect him. He couldn't feel anything but a soft whimpering in his chest, somewhere around where his eight year old self had been, crying out for help against the Saiyans who'd beaten him within an inch of his life. Rather than say anything, to give rise to Vegeta's obvious jab, he turned back to the screen and mustered up the most disinterested tone he could manage.

"I got your request. Was there something else that you needed?"

Vegeta’s jaw clench, the flat unbothered tone was scathing to his pride, but not enough of a distraction from allowing his gaze to wander. This house,  _ her _ lab was worlds different than the rest of the compound. The setup of the lab was exactly as he remembered it. The two brilliantly color bean bag chairs, the computers, all of the things that Bulma--

"How is the ship coming along?"

"The schematics are done," Trunks said, flipping through the file and grabbing his tea mug. He turned to walk deeper into the lab, forcing Vegeta to follow him or be left behind. "I'll finalize them and get started on building it this week."

"It will need a containment cell."

Trunks turned and looked at Vegeta over the edge of his mug. "What?" 

"A containment cell capable of handling a power level of at least 35,000."

“And when you say containment, you mean… a person?”

Vegeta didn’t answer. Trunks stomach flipped, something nagging at the back of his mind about it,but he couldn’t give it much heed. He wanted Vegeta gone and the only way to do that would be to tell the man that it could be done and anything else he wanted to know so he would ever have to come back. Trunks took a sip and looked down at the schematics. The project would be to upgrade and retrofit the ship that they arrived her on to accommodate about fifty people. What would they need a prison cell for?

_ Containment... _ Trunks thought. It was such odd phrasing. Who could they possibly be containing?

"Anything else I should know?"

"A restraint system," Vegeta went on. "Capable of suppressing a Saiyan's powers."

Vegeta set a collection of pages down, "Here are the original designs. Nappa will be here to translate soon enough. Have it done before the ship is done."

Trunks moved to grab them and watched Vegeta turn, avoiding his eyes. 

" _... calibration to restrain a Saiyan ... _ "

Vegeta flinched hearing Trunks mumbling in Saiyan. He refused to turn around and look at him. His chest ached as it was. The oddly colored hair, the paleness of his skin, full pouty lips, and those intelligent eyes. His Saiyan was clear and accurate, probably more accurate than Vegeta’s in some regard.

He just looked so much--

"That is all."

Trunks didn't watch him go and swallowed down the questions he wanted to ask until after Vegeta had flown out of the lab and was probably already on the Saiyan sector of the compound. 

"Nice talking to you too, Dad."

He sighed and sunk down onto his bean bag, glancing at the other one with a smile as he continued to read. 

"Where the hell am I going to put a prison cell, Mom?"

*

Kakarot had the dumbest look on his face. No more simple than usual, but perhaps since Vegeta saw this matter as already resolved it simply appeared that he was being more simple than usual. He shifted in his chair as Vegeta waited for him to say something more than a greeting. 

Did Kakarot not understand that he had things to attend to if he meant to be off this blasted blue marble and with the rest of the Saiyan race soon. He knew that Kakarot would never leave Earth, not that he was invited to participate in the revival of the Saiyan race. 

Kakarot wasn’t a  _ Saiyan warrior _ , not a true one. Earth had made him soft. 

“Well,” Kakarot started. “We’d hate to see you go, but what about Trunks?”

“What about the bastard?” He asked. 

Kakarot sighed and shook his head. It was an argument that they had often, about what he called Trunks and that woman who had been forced upon him by the low-class wretch across from him. 

“Have you told him that you all are leaving?”

Vegeta snorted. He knew Kakarot was thick, but he didn’t realize how thick he truly was if he thought that he’d be leaving the halfling on Earth. His royal blood had already been diluted, disgraced he wouldn’t have it further fall from grace by leaving Trunks on Earth to do  _ Saiya _ knew what. 

“I have no need to tell him anything. He is coming as well.”

Kakarot’s eyes widened as he looked at Vegeta. 

“You think that’s wise in with everything’s that’s happened--”

“Are you questioning my right to do with my subjects as I see fit?”

“I’m questioning your parenting,” Kakarot said evenly. “Trunks has been through a lot and with Bulma--”

“Don’t,” Vegeta grit through his teeth. 

Kakarot sighed. “All I’m saying is that Trunks isn’t like you or the Saiyans on the compound. He is half-human. Perhaps taking him away from everything he’s ever known permanently isn't’ the best idea.”

Vegeta sneered, “If he is even half of my blood, he will learn to adapt and mourn like every other Saiyan does.”

“Badly or not at all?” Kakarot quipped.

Vegeta growled and stood up, “I have fulfilled the terms of our original agreement. It is high time that the Saiyan race begins to truly rebuild.”

Goku watched Vegeta fly out of the window and sat back with a troubled sigh. It seemed that Vegeta had something planned that involved Trunks and wasn’t willing to face the fact that he really was Trunks’ only parent now that Bulma was gone. 

“What’s going on, Dad?” Gohan asked coming into the room. “Vegeta looked more pissed off than usual.”

“Did he?” Goku asked. “I thought he always looked that angry.”

Gohan shrugged and flopped into the chair that Vegeta had vacated as Goku rubbed his head. He wasn’t built for these sorts of issues. He’d have to ask Kami and Chi-Chi about this. Someone, anyone. He was a Saiyan by blood, but he knew next to nothing about the culture, thanks to Vegeta’s insistence that he wasn’t  _ worthy _ to learn it. 

“Vegeta is taking all the Saiyans to join other Saiyans on a new planet Vegeta.”

“Oh, that mean Trunks is staying with us?”

“Well…”


	6. Offering

Trunks woke up at the sound of them hovering over him, the feeling of their tails restraining him and the snap of the cuffs around his wrist. He’d been napping in the lab, fallen asleep with schematics over his face, his tool belt slung around his waist, and warm in his Capsule Corporation jacket and standard work clothes. After pulling an all nighter to finish the ship’s final checks and running around the compound to fix things, he just hadn’t had the energy to crawl into bed, let alone hear them enter the house.

“What the--” He cried out as the cuffs engaged and he felt his power blocked. He couldn’t even truly feel his ki anymore. It made his heart rate spike.

It felt like he was eight years old again and these men were looming over him. Bigger than him with the Saiyan physique and leering expression. 

So much bigger.

“Let me go!”

“Shut up,  _ Princess _ ,” one of them said, dragging him off the bean bag and flying with him through the air. Despite the height, Trunks struggled until he saw what they were flying towards. 

_ The ship? _

He twisted, his stomach churning. He had to go. Had to be anywhere but there. What the hell was going on? 

“Let me go-- Gohan!” He cried seeing the familiar orange clad figure in the sky. 

The older man sped towards him, but it wasn’t fast enough. What he would have given for Goku to be on this side of the planet at the moment. 

“Trunks--”

A Saiyan slammed him into the ground away from the ship as Trunks twisted and fought their grip. There were too many and without his Saiyan abilities, all he could do was scream. They attached chains to his wrist and yanked him towards the ship. Chains that he’d only just finished stress testing a few days ago. 

It’s a bitter taste in his mouth, the ultimate betrayal. Another grabbed him by the waist, removing his tool belt, his shoes and his regular belt. They heaved him up over their shoulders and continued carrying his squirming body down the corridor, towards--

“No! No! No!”

He kicked out, tumbling himself out of their grip. They laughed, hot puffs of air against his skin as he squirmed and wiggled, crawling as much as he could away from them, but he’d made these cuffs nearly indestructible once they were on a person. The only means of removing them would be to have someone blast them off him, but none of Vegeta’s warriors would do that. 

“We’re securing the Princess now, your Highness.”

“Good, let’s be off this Saiyan-forsaken planet.”

Trunks saw Vegeta turning the corner as the men grabbed him by his ankles and yanked him back.

“Father!”

Vegeta glanced at him and Trunks had never felt more insignificant in his life. It’s a cold hard look as one would regard a bug. 

“Hurry up, we leave in one minute.”

In his shock, Trunks lost the will to fight, stunned into silence and stillness. It was just enough to drag him back, lift him up and toss him into the containment cell. Trunks heard the locking sequence beginning and stood, rushing barefoot across the floor towards the door before the electro-shock zapped him of energy and sent him crashing to the ground.

Too late. 

He was too late. 

The chamber was built with enough electromagnetic power to ground anything within it. The chains and cuffs were pure metal and all but pulled Trunks to the ground. The electro-shock was strong enough to zap the strength from any Saiyan and the bands that suppressed his power completely. 

The prison cell, the restraint system--

Trunks screamed a loud, raw sound that bellowed throughout the spacecraft.

*

Vegeta heard Trunks’ voice from the brig. The entire crew looked at him with interest as Vegeta turned his sights towards the guidance. There were two blips of energy flying after the ship. 

“Prepare to jump.”

*

When the magnetism eased, Trunks dragged his body towards the window. Perhaps he could figure out where they were going, how they were going to get there and figure out a way to navigate back. He could build a spaceship easily given the right materials and enough time. 

Gohan and Goten appeared, flying after the ship. Goten’s hair was super saiyan gold, his eyes angry as they flew towards him.

“Goten! Gohan!” He cried, knowing that they could only read his lips. “Get me out of here! Don’t let them take me. Please! Help!”

Goten roared, flying faster to rear back and punch through the glass between them. He flinched for the impact, but it never came. Goten and Gohan disappeared. The sight of the Earth, the MIlky Way vanished and was replaced with stars that he  couldn’t recognize, somewhere outside of the galaxy. His eyes burned, hot tears streaming down his face. 

“ _ Help, _ ” he said softly, sobbing bitterly. 

He’d built the warp drive that had made it possible for them to jump from within Earth’s atmosphere, something that wasn’t usually possible. He’d built the ship inside out and Vegeta had made it his mode of kidnapping, his prison. 

He let out a distressed wail, a scream really, but it did nothing for the pain in his chest, nor his tears. They were tears that had been waiting for years to be shed it felt like. He cried out more in despair than rage. All of the hope had vanished with the jump. All of his fight had been left back on Earth. His body slumped to the floor, curled up, unable to do anything more than weep, clutching the fabric of his jacket. 

They’d taken his tool belt. It had been Bulma’s. They’d taken his shoes, his hope--

Took him away from home and everything he’d ever known.

_ Please _ , he thought desperately.  _ I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough. _

Sometime after he realized that there was no amount of pleading to the universe he could do to undo this, someone slid rations to him. Trunks didn’t move, lying still on the cold metal floor, but he could guess that it wasn’t like anything he would have had on Earth. It wasn’t rice or beef, or anything that tasted good. Saiyans had a way for spartan living. Their food was tasteless, but full of the necessary vitamins. It was efficient, much like everything else they did. 

They were, after all, a culture of war, not life.

His tears had dried up by then too, perhaps he was just too dehydrated to cry any longer. 

“Still crying, boy.”

Trunks said nothing. Vegeta’s harsh voice, the little flare of an accent in his usual biting Japanese broke over his senses.

He felt nothing. 

“Better silent than weeping like a woman,” Vegeta said. “You--”

*

“ _ Why _ ?”

Vegeta flinched at the sound of Trunks’ voice. Saiyan was a proud and beautiful language, it wasn’t meant to be said with a voice like that. Never mind that he hadn’t been prepared to hear Trunks speak Saiyan. If perhaps a spike of pride reared its head, it was quickly destroyed by the realization that it hadn’t been Vegeta to pass down the language to his progeny, but that Earth woman. 

It had been--

“He speaks,” Vegeta said. “I hope you can say more than that. You might actually earn the honor of your blood yet.”

“Why do this to me?” Trunks asked. “ _ Why? _ ”

Vegeta rolled his eyes, “I resent Kakarot for demanding me mate with your mother. A Saiyan elite does not breed with just anyone, let alone and elite of the royal house. But as of late Kakarot’s asinine idea of allegiance has proved useful.”

As Vegeta’s only progeny, half-blooded as he was, Trunks was perfect for an old custom regarding the Saiyan royal line and the existence of super saiyans in their various forms. Sometimes they were of the legendary caliber, sometimes they were simply men of great power who had done great things for Vegeta. Of course, the custom was usually used for Saiyan women in the hopes to get that power in the royal bloodline, but by Vegeta’s standards Trunks was close enough that it didn’t matter. The rules of the Offering also never specified gender. 

“Given that the new planet Vegeta has recombinant DNA technology, it hardly matters if you cannot physically bear a child, nor that you are just a halfling.”

The man he’d be offered to met all the criteria necessary for it. He’d killed Frieza, secured a New Vegeta, and had proven himself to be a Saiyan warrior above lower class. 

“You had me build my own prison, so you could establish your kingship on a new planet?” Trunks asked, his voice empty and cold, resonating in his cell.

“I brought you along to fulfill just one duty to your heritage. If not to me, then to the great Saiyan race. When we arrive, work will begin to craft a true  _ prince _ of the Saiyans and you will serve to pacify the lower class and add to the genetic pool needed for the advancement of the race.”

Trunks didn’t move, the weight of his reality pressing him into the floor. 

_ Don’t Trunks, you’ll only make it worse. _

“Did you ever think of me as your son?” He asked. “Did you ever love my mother?”

Vegeta paused and looked at the figure curled up on the floor. Lavender hair splayed out around him. He was taller that Vegeta, not heavily muscled because of his youth, but strong nonetheless.

“Prepare yourself. Do know that Saiyans have no mercy or their property.”

“I am no one’s property,” Trunks said. 

“Not yet,” Vegeta assured. “When he is more than likely destroying you, think of the bloodline, boy. There is more at stake than your  _ life _ .”

Trunks’s stomach churned as Vegeta turned away from the cell. Trunks couldn’t find it in himself to be more down, or be angry. His suspicions confirmed. The phrase rattled around in his soul. 

_ Think of the blood line. _

_ Think of the blood line.  _

If he had anything in his stomach, it would be on the floor.

*

Broly landed beside his father  just moments before the ship descended from the sky. The Saiyan sky was streaked with brilliant reds and golds. He wondered if the Princess liked sunrises and sunsets. The dawns of Saiya were unlike anything anyone could encounter in their life on any other planet. 

To his eyes, it was a nice ship. One fit for a King who had hijacked a Freizan ship. It had been modified and upgraded from the original design almost seamlessly. Apparently, the Saiyans that had followed  Vegeta here had an accomplished engineer among their ranks. That would be great. Their own engineer had limited knowledge revolving around patch work and the Thelians’ expertise was not in reading schematics they’d gotten from another planet. They were in Saiyan, but the science behind them didn’t make any sense to the engineers they had. Hopefully, the engineer on this ship could make some sense out of them. 

When the door opened, Vegeta descended first. Broly scanned the group in curiosity as Paragus made introductions. In the group, he saw no one filling the description of the Princess he’d been told about. It was unheard of for a Saiyan to have a hair color other than black, let alone a different eye color, but this one was supposed to have lavender hair and blue eyes.  Vegeta looked up at him as if he was taller than him and shook his hand. It seemed that the impression he got from their transmission was spot on. Vegeta was a man who lived for his ego. 

He had a feeling that this would be a difficult transition for everyone involved. 

The ceremony was to happen before dinner. The Princess would remain in the ship until it was time to get ready. Vegeta said that  _ Trunks _ was simply still sleeping from the trip, but Broly didn’t buy it. 

Rather than call the new King on it, he went along with the planned tour of the planet. The Saiyan side of the planet’s natural divide was mostly flat dry land, a near perfect replica of old Vegeta, per Paragus. They had long since outfitted the original ship into a living space while construction of the palace and the town was still underway. The Saiyans had already constructed a place of dwelling for Broly and the Thelian princess. Ware and most of the  warriors who had followed him into battle and had taken to the old Saiyan way lived on that compound as well.

“No infrastructure,” Vegeta commented during the tour. “Who is this woman?”

Mira flinched and bowed her head, “I am Mira, your highness.”

Vegeta hummed, “What do you want?”

“I am here to retrieve Sir Broly,” she said demurely. “There is a matter that requires his attention, per his request.”

Broly smiled, “Your Highness, father. I will return in due time. It is for the best that I handle this.”

Paragus nodded, not entirely clear on what the issue was, but let him go. Broly picked Mira up and flew off with her. 

He sighed, “Thank you, Mira.”

She giggled, “Of course, Sir Broly. Is he as troublesome as you thought he would be?”

“More so,” he said. “Let us hope that the Princess is of a better temperament.”

They landed in the courtyard of the compound constructed for Broly. The Thelians had been insistent on building him a palace of sorts and he hadn’t the heart to tell them no when the people of planet Saiya agreed as well. Between their knowledge of materials, his strength, and Ware’s extensive historical knowledge the place was created to be a palace worthy of a king in Tourin’s time. There they had loaded up everything necessary for the celebration. 

“You’ve outdone yourself,” he said looking at the array of food. “Is this all?”

Mira nodded, “If it is to your liking, we’ll start transporting it.”

“I’m sure it will be perfect and a good change for the men that have been fed rations most of their lives.”

*

Vegeta considered everything he’d been shown. It was obvious that there were details missing, but the fact of the matter was that Paragus and his band of Saiyans had simply just begun. He had a feeling that the celebration of the offering would be far less impressive than it would have been back on old Vegeta.  But since Trunks was less impressive of an offering than usual he couldn't be upset.

He watched the sun set on this planet and the rising of the moon that was more a blue star than a moon patiently. 

“What is it?” He asked the warrior coming up behind him. 

“Your Highness, it’s time.”

Vegeta nodded, “Go get the boy.”

He turned and headed down to exit the ship as the small band escorted Trunks out of the ship. He’d lost all sense of the fight he’d had on Earth, perhaps his spirit was broken. 

Good, at least this would all go over smoothly. He wasn’t the first to be sacrificed for the sake of the race and he wouldn’t be the last. 

“As is customary, the ceremony will take place outside, afterwards there will be a feast, though given the state of this rock, it will be more like a meal.

He turned to Trunks as the wind blew and carried his hair up and around him. Under the light, it seemed to glow and Vegeta almost wretched seeing him. He took after his mother far too much not to.

“You need not do anything but answer yes when asked,” Vegeta said. “Be warned that there is nowhere for you to run.”

Trunks lifted his head to meet his father’s eyes. Vegeta turned immediately to lead them towards where they’d set up the ceremony. It was beautiful and scarily accurate to Saiyan traditions. The banners were that strong red color. There were far more people in the assembly than he would have guessed were among Paragus’s band. Not all of them were Saiyan either. The banquet was set up and in the firelight he could see Broly and Paragus standing together. They laughed, Paragus clapping Broly on his shoulder despite the height difference.

“Your highness,” Paragus greeted with a bow. 

Broly gave an incline of his head before looking at the band behind him. 

“I see you have managed to at least honor this tradition.”

Paragus chuckled, “It is a great honor to have my son mate with the Princess.”

Broly watched the tick in shoulder of the lavender haired person standing between two Saiyans. Each of them in Freizan armor while the lavender haired person seemed to be wearing something neither Saiyan nor Freizan. A blue jacket cut at his waist, pants, a tank top, and boots. The blue eyes looked at him, practically glowing in the night, before looking back to the ground. 

“Princess Trunks,” Paragus nodded his head. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello,” he said in greeting, but said nothing more. 

“The boy is shy,” Vegeta said. “Let’s say the time on Earth has softened him.”

Trunks’ eyes drifted across the fires and over the people who all seemed to be celebrating. The Saiyan language flitting between them easily, that and something else among the women. His wrists felt heavy, the suppression of his ki was getting to be almost too much. 

Luckily, Ware appeared to start the festivities and he was directed to sit across from the man wearing a blood red robe secured by a gold jeweled belt around his waist. He was bare-chested except for the gold plate around his neck and the band around his throat. 

_ Handsome _ , his mind quipped. Square jawed, dark eyes. 

_ A real hunk, _ he heard in a voice that sounded a lot like Bulma.  _ He’s totally your type dear. _

His jaw trembled and his fists clenched as Ware gave the appropriate speech over the two of them. Something about reviving their culture, rebuilding, and moving towards the future. It was funny that their future was being built on his tears. 

“Do you agree, Princess Trunks, to give yourself to Commander Broly as his mate for life?”

_ How long will that be? _ He looked at Broly, taking in his size. 

If Broly was the legendary super saiyan, then more than likely he was stronger than even Trunks could sense sitting across from him. Dark eyes, dark hair, a Saiyan paragon. 

He could kill Trunks without trying. 

He probably would. 

“Yes.”

When the ceremony is over, he was escorted beyond Vegeta’s landing spot and into a large building that Trunks could only describe as a palace. It seemed to have been carved from the landscape, leaving it more a work of art than a bastion of someone’s power. The women guided him through the palace, giving him a brief tour of the grounds and the baths before directing him to a large suite.

“There are fresh clothes and supplies in the bathroom. Sir Broly should be home soon.”

Trunks said nothing, staring at the cuffs on his wrists before trudging beyond the door, barefoot still. It was a beautiful room, lightly scented with bath soaps and oils he guessed. It made him think of Bulma’s extensive perfume collection. 

She’d given it all to Chi Chi upon her death. Her clothing for the most part had gone to charity. The house had gone to Trunks as well as the lab. 

He wondered what Earth was doing with it now that he was gone. 

With the scents in the room it was easier to smell himself. He wrinkled his nose. 

_ You smell like a dairy farm. _

He chuckled at the thought and sighed. Stripping out of his clothes, he stepped under the heated waterfall to shower. He knew for certain that the ship didn’t have hot water, it had been something that Bulma had been sure not to add. He didn’t know if it was to spite Vegeta or if it was cultural thing. 

Trunks had never been subjected to cold puddles of water or the basic cleansing procedures that the Saiyans went through, thankfully. He washed his hair and his body, using his tail to scrub his back as if he was home. As if he hadn’t just been married off to a man that would kill him.

_ It’s strange.  _

He’s sure that the shock would set in soon enough, but it wasn’t here yet. Maybe he was just too empty for there to be any shock, or too full for it to fit. 

_ At least the water feels like home. _

The bath waters were perfectly warm, soothing the aches of being thrown around and kidnapped. It feels a bit like the onsen near the Son’s house. If he closed his eyes and pretended, he could almost imagine he was there, awaiting the splash attack from Goten probably. 

He chuckled at that, refusing to sob anymore. He was on this planet, but all he had to do was wait long enough to get access to a ship. He could pilot his way home, he was sure of that much. Hell, if he could  _ build one _ he’d be set. And if he couldn’t get, then he was sure that the man would kill him in due time so it wouldn’t be long until he was seeing his mother.

_ A Briefs never has such a defeatist attitude, _ he heard Bulma say, a memory from so long ago. 

What good had it done then? None-- the same as it was doing now.

That man who’d stood in front of him as the officiator carried on with the ceremony would probably rape and kill him tonight. He’d die broken, battered and abused alone on a planet so far away from his home that he didn’t recognize it.

And it was his own father who’d sentenced him to this fate. 

_ Think of the bloodline, _ Trunks thought, a morose feeling coming over him. He could only think of the line of blood that would spill over the edge of the bed, leaking out of him like a punctured gas line, but rather than a bang he’d go out with just a whimper of pain.

He got out of the bath and found that the clothes he’d stripped out of were gone. The basket he’d dropped them in was apparently some sort of chute. He dressed quickly in the clothing that had been left for him, loose flowing and unlike anything he’d ever seen a Saiyan in until he’d seen Broly across the aisle. 

He stepped through the door and froze. 

Broly turned to Trunks and smiled. Dimples in his cheeks, pearly white teeth and warm eyes looking at him.

Well, at least death was handsome.


	7. Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broly and Trunks meet

“Princess Trunks,” Broly greeted with a slight inclination of his head. “It is an honor to meet you.”

Trunks backed away from him, holding up his cuffed hands as the door slid shut behind him. His jaw clenched.

_ Princess. _ While Broly’s voice didn’t carry the usual sneer he was used to hearing with the title, it still rubbed him wrong. He was a  _ man _ for Kami’s sake! 

_ Legendary Super Saiyan,  _  Trunks thought. 

The gold crown and ornaments on him definitely screamed some sort of royalty. He was handsome, but that didn’t change the issue. A fucking cryptid mail order bride was not what he’d planned on doing with his life no matter what his father thought about it. He was a Briefs, a scientific genius, a martial artist. There was more in him than a fuckhole for the brawniest Saiyan alive currently.       

_ A Briefs never has such a defeatist attitude. _

Trunks didn't know much about Saiyan weddings or ceremonies, but he knew that he was the proverbial bride simply by the fact that he had  _ attendants _ and the clothes that were set out for him were more ceremonial than functional. A stark contrast to Broly’s red robes, his main color seemed to be blue. Vegeta’s armor had been inscribed with what Trunks had to assume was the royal family crest, yet Trunks had not been given any such ornaments of status or bloodline. Trunks had been left in his Earth clothes for the ceremony. Whether on purpose or not, he couldn't know, but it felt appropriate. Trunks was from Earth not Vegeta. He was--

He swallowed thickly. He’d been chained up and brought to this planet against his will, his clothes were gone and now--

“I’m a man,” Trunks said, darkly. 

*

To say that Broly was confused would have been an understatement. Broly’s gaze dragged over Trunks slim hips, muscled thighs, and broad shoulders. He was a good deal shorter than him, a perfect height if he simply wanted to rest his head on top of Trunks’ with long lavender hair to his shoulders. No Saiyan was made up of such hues, the entire race bound to dark hair and dark eyes. Princess Trunks had to only be half- Saiyan then. What the other half was Broly couldn’t be sure, but it definitely gave Trunks a striking appearance.

He smelled faintly of a sweet fruit that Broly didn’t have a name for, but there was no mistaking his gender.

What else could the Princess be but a man?

“Yes, Princess, I understand that.” Broly said. “I was under no misconception.”

“Then why are you calling me Princess?” Trunks asked.

“That is your title,” he said. “As set forth by the King.”

“Don’t speak of him to me,” Trunks growled. “That… ”

Whatever Trunks growled was lost to him. The sounds weren’t of any language that Broly knew. Even the word  _ princess _ was a bit difficult to pronounce. When he’d been told of Trunk’s title, he had simply thought it was native to whatever planet Trunks’ other half was from. Seeing Trunks react to it now, he had a feeling that there was more to it than just that.

Broly frowned, “I am not familiar with Earth language, have I offended you, Princess?”

Trunks grit his teeth, “That--”

Trunks shook his head, glaring at Broly apparently resolved to be in the conversation again.

“You’ll have to kill me if you think that these cuffs will stop me from fighting.”

_ Fighting what? _ Broly thought.

Broly’s eyes widened and he worried his lip, “Princess, I am not sure what it is you know of Saiyans. We are warriors, yes. Conquerors, even. In the time of Frieza, we killed without mercy and without regard to many things, but rapists we never were and I never would be.”

Trunks flinched back.

“I will not touch you without your consent, you have my word.”

Trunks seemed to relax a bit and Broly took a step towards him.

“Stay back!”

Broly held up his hands and froze. He wasn’t entirely sure what had Trunks so frightened, or what he’d been told about this tradition, but he had a feeling that he would find out soon enough. For now, he had to tread carefully with the lavender haired beauty that called to all of his Saiyan instincts. He felt his ki spiking dangerously, a primal urge prowling beneath his skin. He had to be out of Trunks’ presence quickly lest he scared the already terrified man.

_ Should his heart be beating that quickly? _

“I mean you no harm. I mean only to remove the cuffs. May I?”

Trunks frowned and brought them closer to his chest. His eyes were suspicious and Broly’s stomach twisted with nerves. What exactly did Trunks think he was going to do to him?

“Why?”

“Because despite the rather archaic practice we have been subjected to, I am not so primitive as to leave you in chains. I have night patrol and I would have you comfortable here. It will be your home for the foreseeable future, Princess.”

Trunks swallowed and looked at the cuffs. His expression was pensive, wistful, resentful as well before he nodded hesitantly and held them out to Broly. 

Broly sighed a bit with relief. A little progress was better than none at all and with that small act of trust he felt his ki easing . He took the key out of the pocket of his pants and cupped Trunk’s wrists gently. The key went in easily and twisted, popping the lock around one wrist and then the other. Broly took the cuffs and watched Trunks rub his wrists. 

Broly offered him a small smile, “How is that?”

“Better, thank you.”

He nodded and turned his head, “Cali?”

The door slid open to reveal a young girl, “Good evening, Sir. Princess.”

Trunks stiffened at the sound of his title and Broly frowned. Trunks scent shifted, no longer just strawberries, but tinged with something dark like horror and rage.

“Princess, this is Cali. She and her sisters will be looking after you while you are here. If there is anything you wish for, do not hesitate to ask.”

He inclined his head and bid Trunks a goodnight before leaving the two alone. He only hoped that Trunks would relax. Cali was good at getting people to relax around her.

*

Trunks relaxed as soon as the door had closed behind Broly. Cali hadn't been a member of the group who'd led him around the grounds after the ceremony, nor brought him to this room. His tail twitched around his leg, anxious and wary of the young girl who smiled sweetly at him with dark eyes peering over the top of her gossamer veil.

“It is my pleasure to serve you, Princess. Please let me know if you need anything. Food perhaps? Water? You didn’t seem to eat much at the ceremony.”

“Sleep,” he said. “And a way home.”

Cali’s eyes softened before she shook it off and smiled.

“I know nothing of interplanetary travel, but I do know the best things for bed here on Saiya.”

His eyes narrowed looking at her and the wrap around her head, her features as well. Her eyebrows were a strange blue above her coal dark eyes. 

“You aren't Saiyan?” He said.

She chuckled, “Goodness, no. I'm from a planet called Thelia. Sir Broly and his men saved me and my people from certain death and brought us here.”

“As servants?”

“As refugees from the reign of Frieza. We, like  the Saiyans, were once under the control of that horrible race.”

She shivered looking back through time at the fading memories of her home planet. Broly had arrived with a band of his Saiyans just before Frieza had sent men to cleanse the planet and harvest it for materials. They had barely escaped with their lives and had come with the Saiyans to this new planet to rebuild their life. The planet’s name was Seiya. 

“Do you live here?”

“Yes. My sisters and I serve Sir Broly as thanks for saving our father, the King. The rest of our people live on Sir Broly’s portion of the planet.”

Trunk sank down on the bed, folding his legs together and shifting so his tail was pinned tightly against his leg. 

“Will you sit for a while? Tell me about your people?”

She smiled and took a seat.

“Well, where should I begin?”

Trunks worried his lip, “How about your language?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Life implodes sometimes.


	8. Seiyans, Saiyans and Thelians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broly clears up a misconception and Vegeta learns that he maybe King but Broly is the ruler.

Paragus,” Vegeta began. 

“Yes, your highness?”

“How is it that last night there was a feast, yet this morning there are  _ rations _ ? Have you no sense of management?”

Paragus winced. He should have known that this conversation would happen sooner rather than later. The Saiyan agricultural plant and terraforming equipment were not quite operational. They didn’t have an engineer good enough to get it working as easily as it should have been. They couldn’t even tell if they were reading the instructions wrong or if it had simply been damaged in transport. The food for the festivities had been provided by the Thelians and the Seiyans as a show of goodwill and support of Broly. They’d traded Saiyan labor for food while they tried to get their own infrastructure together. The Saiyans that were under Broly’s direct command, including Paragus, reaped the benefits of that trade as they mostly lived on the other side of the barrier.

“Refugees on  _ my _ planet eat before us? They should be paying tribute not  _ trading _ .”

“Your Highness, the Thelians are actually--”

The door slid open to reveal Broly, “Excuse me for interrupting. You called for me father?”

“Yes, --”

“These  _ Thelian _ milquetoasts have been allowed to reap the benefits of Saiyan work and yet they eat first? _ ” _

Broly’s eyebrow lifted and looked at Paragus who sighed, running a hand through his hair. Broly nodded. 

“Father?”

“I was getting to that, your Highness.” Paragus said looking to Vegeta. “The Thelians are actually… well--”

“My guests,” Broly stated. “The agreement we have with them and the honor due to me by the Seiyans affords them equal status on this planet.”

“There is nothing  _ equal _ to a Saiyan,” Vegeta said, glaring at him. “And the honor afforded to you by the Saiyan race is nothing more than my progeny in your bed.”

“I said Seiyan, not Saiyan.”

Vegeta frowned, “Are you truly so idiotic that you don’t know how to say your own race’s name?”

Broly’s lips lifted in a smirk and he glanced at Paragus who groaned. Apparently, Paragus had not gotten around to explaining the state of affairs. Planet Seiya was not new Vegeta. The half of Seiya that had been the payment for their help could be New Vegeta, but that was all.

“I don’t imagine any of the Saiyans you brought with you know how to  _ farm _ , your Highness?”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed, “Why would a warrior need to know how to farm?”

“I assume he knows how to eat,” Broly said. “Where would his food come from?”

“Your point,  _ boy? _ ”

“The Thelians are currently the only people, besides the Seiyans, on planet Seiya who know anything about growing food on this planet. The Seiyans are the native population of this planet. This planet is Seiya, not New Vegeta. The half of the planet that has been given to the  _ Saiyan _ race for their help in dispelling the threats to Seiya could be New Vegeta unless you planned on going out to conquer another planet with all of thirty men?”

Vegeta’s eyes widened and he growled. Paragus winced, opening his mouth, but Vegeta beat him to it.

“You think your power affords you the right to speak to your king like this? What the hell are you speaking of?”

Broly’s eyes narrowed, “A king should know what is best for his people--not his pride.”

Vegeta opened his mouth, “You--”

“The Thelians have my ship and are under the protection of the Seiyans. I will gladly send them away on it for as long as it takes for the Saiyans to  _ starve _ as is my right as commander and the person the deal for the planet was brokered. They are under my protection as set forth by that deal, though I don’t foresee it being necessary to do so.”

“Paragus,” Vegeta said through a clenched jaw. “Is this the  _ hero _ of the Saiyan race? Spouting this- this pacifist nonsense? What is he blathering about?” 

Paragus winced as Broly turned to look at Vegeta and then to Paragus.

“Father,” Broly began. “I am not sure what you’ve lead the King to believe about the Saiyan presence on this planet, but now would be the time to come clean about it or at least explain it to him. Find me whenever you are ready to speak.”

Vegeta growled, his eyes narrowing as Broly only glanced at him.

“I have engagements in the Seiyan capital until this afternoon. You know how to find me should you need me further.”

Broly left the room and immediately took off into the air as Paragus took a breath. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been clear so much as Vegeta had jumped the gun. He’d heard Saiyans, planet, but not the fact that planet’s native inhabitants had hired them to get rid of their problem in exchange for half the planet that had been war ravaged. Most of them perished prior to their arrival, but the population that survived had retreated behind their natural ley line defenses that protected the rest of the planet.

With the fading strength of the elders, Broly offered himself as good will, using his lifeline to strengthen the ley line defenses and swore that they would always be protected. The Seiyans had welcome the Thelians, their culture, and their technology and had since been rebuilding from the fight.

“What is this  _ ley line _ protection?”

“The Seiyans of this planet do not have power in the way that the Saiyans of Vegeta do. Instead they have a connection to the planet that allows them great control over a planet’s energy. Their barriers far succeed our might when properly established. They are not unlike the Namekians in their mystic ways.”

“Part of the planet?” Vegeta asked. “How much is this part protected by this mystic ordinance?”

“I would estimate half, your Highness.”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed and he walked to the door. “Show me.”

Paragus took lead on the flight to the edge of the continent. The ridge was wide, but not so wide that they could not pass. Instead there was a glimmer in the air where ridge was, extending far into the horizon. He fired a blast at it and watched it ripple with the blast.

“What is this?”

“The Seiyan barrier,” he explained.

“There is a way to break it down?”

Paragus shook his head, “Not so long as the anchor of it is alive.”

“And how is it that they traverse it?”

“The barrier reads intentions,” Paragus said. “So long as you mean no harm in passing it and seek to do no harm, you will be permitted to cross.”

“And you did not think to tell me about this grave military disadvantage before I arrived because?”

“To be frank, your Highness, it wasn’t germane to the conversation.” He said. “Had you allowed me to finish the explanation of Planet Seiya, then perhaps this misunderstanding could have been avoided.”

Vegeta ground his teeth, “I mean to survey the planet in its entirety in the coming days, for now I want a sentinel to watch this ley line.”

Vegeta peered through the barrier and back towards where the Saiyan settlement had been set up. There was such a difference. Beyond the edge of the barrier were rolling hills, dotted with foliage and cattle. A great, gleaming city in the distance. Behind him, his own kingdom made up of one old modified Freizan ship as a base and miles of uncultivated land. He grit his teeth. He had been fooled, blinded in his haste to get off Earth and regain some of the former glory of the Saiyan race. 

To think, he’d done Trunks a favor marrying him off to the Saiyan hero. He was sure that Bulma was lounging in her favorite bikini and laughing at his expense. 

_ Oh, mighty Prince how you've fallen. _

It's strange, the twinge of pain that comes from thinking of her. Stranger still that he could not put it past him as easily as he should have. 

He flew back to his own base and locked himself in his quarters with the intent to escape the thought.

_ Silly, don't you know memories don't go away with anything but time? _

Unfortunately, he simply did not have time for this _. _


	9. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hidden closets make panic

Broly waited for his heart to calm and found his center before opening the door to their shared chambers. Trunks was running his fingers through his hair, his ki unstable and frantic as he searched the room. Per Cali and her sisters, Trunks had been beside himself all day, tearing through the palace in search of something, but he hadn’t told them exactly what it was. Cali had the strongest grasp of the Saiyan language among them, yet even she had no understanding of what he was looking for.

“ _ Doko _ ?  _ Doko iru _ ?”

“Princess,” Broly said. Trunks’ head turned sharply towards him and moment later Trunks had flown into him. 

_ Flight, _ he thought. 

A flight technique that was much different that normal Saiyan flight. He was impressed and intrigued all at once. He been almost under the impression that Trunks had no Saiyan qualities whatsoever. It didn't matter to him, but not having Saiyan powers could have been the reason that Vegeta seemed so keen to get rid of him.

“Where are my clothes?”

He frowned, “I don’t under--”

“The clothes I was brought here in!” Trunks said, clenching his fist against Broly’s chest, tangled in the red tunic he wore. “P-Please don’t tell me you had them thrown away. Please.  _ Please. _ ”

Broly licked his lips and stilled seeing the lack of focus and rising hysteria. He set a hands on Trunks’ shoulder and the other cupping his jaw gently, lifting his head to meet his blue eyes. The younger flinched, jolting and looking up at Broly. It’s an intimate gesture, one meant to shock him into paying attention, but Broly finds himself distracted by the arrestingly vulnerable expression on Trunks’ face.

*

Trunks could hear Vegeta’s voice launching into a tirade about him being weak, about discarding  his Earth habits and joining the Saiyan race, but how could someone so callous ever understand what it meant to hold something dear?

_ Even if you are just a hafling. _

He’d never be able to shed his sense of feeling. Trunks felt his chest tightening, panicked and fearful. It felt like the world was falling out from under him, the way it should have been when they'd warp jumped across the universe. All of that swirled and eddies slowly outside the warmth of Broly’s touch.

“I have not discarded anything of yours, Princess. Come.”

Trunks trembled, but allowed Broly to guide him to other side of the room away from Broly’s closet. He took his hand and pressed it against the wall so that a door appeared and slid aside.

There hanging among the other robes and ornaments was his clothing, freshly cleaned. The stark white Capsule Corp logo stared at him. His tool belt and boots were there as well. A sigh of relief escaped him. Never mind that he still didn’t understand how the opening mechanism worked-- it was there. There in all its glory.

“I had your things brought from the King’s ship, but this was all that was given. If there is anything you are missing, please let me know.” Broly told him. “Nothing of yours will be discarded should you wish to keep it. This is your closet. I am sorry for causing you distress.”

Trunks said nothing but reached out and took the jacket off its hanger and brought it close to his chest. He turned the to place himself in a corner by the window to see the sunlight and rock himself, pressing the jacket to his face. Soon enough the sound of the palace, the feeling of Broly in the room faded away. 

In his mind, he was in the lab on Earth, curled up on Bulma’s beanbag. There’s the sound of the computer’s cooling system whirring behind him, birds outside the window and the distance whistling wind. 

It’s enough. 

It’s home.

*

Broly had seen plenty of people do it in times of peril. Cali and her sisters had succumbed to their panic in their father’s great hall during the escape. Where they had escaped and where Trunks was escaping to now he had no idea, but it turned his stomach to see him in such distress. 

What troubles plagued Trunks' mind to reduce him to this was something he wanted to know, but he bet it had something to do with how he arrived on this planet. After all, if he had come willingly, Trunks would have had at least one change of clothing like the rest of the Saiyans that had been on the ship. Instead, there had only been his boots, his belt, and his tool belt. Broly pulled a thick cloak out of his closet and wrapped it around Trunks. The younger man didn't react, didn't move, and didn't seem to notice either.

He pressed a kiss to Trunks’ head and went to his study. He came back with work to do and hovered near Trunks as he went over the paperwork. By the time Trunks fell asleep, curled into himself against the wall, Broly had finished all of the work he’d needed to for the day. Broly lifted Trunks from the ground and settled him, jacket, cloak and all, into bed before leaving the room. 

“Honi,” he called.

She smiled and waved mutely at him.

“Do what you can to find out the circumstances around the Princess's arrival to Seiya? There’s something not right here.”

She nodded and salute him before flying off. He returned to their chambers later that night to hear Trunks sobbing softly beyond the door. Broly worried his lip and leaned in to listen for some clue beyond his crying, but there came none. Rather than return to the room he floated away from the door and down the hallway and out of the compound towards the forest. He flew to the top of the mountain and watched the night sky give way to dawn. The light flourished across the sky deep purples and reds opening like gossamer wings across the sky. The clouds glowed with the streaks of light and slowly the butterfly sun rose spreading its wings with dawn.

There was no planet he'd ever been on that had a dawn that could compare to this. Perhaps one day, he and Trunks would be able to enjoy it with him.

One day maybe.


	10. What Makes A Saiyan?: Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, there's hope Broly. I'm not that cruel.

He woke up alone

It wasn't uncommon, but strange. Broly was usually coming out of the bathroom and getting dressed for the day by the time he woke up. They exchanged greetings, offers of food, and refusals before he left and that was it.

This morning he was alone, eyes still wet from the night of tears, but a little better. He got dressed and walked down the hallway wondering when he'd run into a Saiyan or a Thelian, if anyone thought him strange, and why he cared about any of that considered that he’d been kidnapped and offered up as a bride to someone he’d never met before.

Trunks wandered aimlessly it seemed until he came upon a chamber. The woman in the room was busy sparring with a man, but rather than martial arts they were using bow staffs. His heart ached, thinking of Goku and his extending staff, but he watched on. The style was world’s different than any he’d ever seen before. There was no grace, but more pure brutality as if they planned on beating each other as bloody as possible rather than attempting to reserve any energy and win the fight as efficiently as possible. 

That seemed to be a theme with the Saiyan race. They were so occupied with physical strength that they never seemed to care for any other type..

_ Except Broly, _ he thought. 

From the time he'd spent with the man, speaking to Cali, and what he'd heard from the small group of Saiyans who followed Broly religiously, Broly wasn't exactly the average Saiyan warrior.

_ Perhaps he’d risen up above and become the legendary if mythologiical, Intelligent Saiyan. _

He groaned. He sounded like Vegeta, and he wondered if Broly found it tiresome to listen to people fawn over him all the time like that. Trunks, at least, understood that fame came with a price. Goku had often complained about people vying for his attention for the simplest and sometimes the dumbest reasons. 

Goku was a lot of things, but a cheater he was not. Trunks smirked and wondered if Chi Chi knew how many women threw themselves at her husband.

When the two were finished, the man bowed to her and turned to leave but not before sparing a curious glance to Trunks.

“Princess,” he said in passing taking the chance to look at Trunks in his entirety before leaving.

“Don’t worry about him,” she said drinking water with a hand on her hip, “Everyone’s just curious about you.”

“Me?”

“The only progeny of  _ King Vegeta _ , yet we haven’t seen you fight. Here on New Vegeta, we’re rather protective of our Legendary Super Saiyan; we wouldn’t want to be wasting his time.”

“Well in case you didn’t know, lady, I didn’t exactly ask to be brought here.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“If you all are so concerned, find a way to ship me home. I was quite  _ happy _ being a cryptid on my home planet.”

Her eyebrow lifted, “What is a cryptid?”

He blew out a breath, “Never mind. It isn’t important.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Perhaps you could be sent home, if Sir Broly tired of you, Princess. No doubt your father would have something to say about that.”

_ Think of the bloodline. _

He grit his teeth and tried to choke down a breath. Broly called him Princess all the time, yet there was no malice behind it. It didn’t even seem like there was any malice in this woman’s speech either just a curiosity. No, her malice came from elsewhere. That same sneering derision that was usually in his father's voice.

_ Halfling. _

_ Bastard. _

_ Bloodline. _

“Do you know how to fight at least?”

“Of course, I do,” Trunks said.

She hummed and looked around the weapons on the walls, “These weapons represent the history of the Saiyan Race. Each had been held by a great ruler at some point and each would only yield to the most deserving.”

Trunks looked around, “I take it that this is another pre-Freiza thing.”

Her eyes cut to him, “Yes.”

Trunks nodded and looked around, “Your point?”

“Chose one,  _ halfling. _ ”

She gestured to the rack nearby. From the looks of them, they were all training weapons and cheaply made. What anyone expected to do sparring with such terribly made weapons he had no idea, but he also had no desire to fight this woman or what she stood for in this palace. 

He was an outsider, and he would keep it that way as much as he could. His own marriage had nothing to do with him, what difference did it make if anyone under Broly respected him or not?

His eyes narrowed, “I’d rather not.”

“So, you are more  _ Earth _ than  _ Saiyan _ ?” She asked dismissively as he turned to leave, “I don’t imagine Sir Broly will be--”

“Look,” he said glaring at her, “If you want his dick so badly, go jump on it, by all means, but stay out of things you know nothing about--”

He lifted a hand stopping her swing with the bow staff easily and broke it. Her eyes widened, and she paled looking at him. It wasn't ornamented like the ones on the wall and was a cheaply made as Trunks expected. She was probably just a trainee of some sort, it would have been the only explanation. 

_ Why do I care? _

“Your staff is shit,” he said honestly letting the pieces drop to the ground. 

He turned then to leave out the way he came and left her distraught and horrified over the damage to the staff. 

“Fauna,” she froze at the calling of her name but turned to see the keeper there. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“What have you  _ done? _ ”

“It wasn’t my fault! The--”

“Out of my sight,” he growled at her. She dropped the remnants of the bow staff and flew out of the room. 

He’d used this staff to train with his own father back on Vegeta. It was not a true Saiyan relic, but one that he kept as a reminder of his own heritage. Fauna had been interested in learning more about the Saiyan race to follow Broly more religiously and perhaps become his mate.

Ware shook his head, the arrival of Vegeta and Trunks had thrown a lot of plans out of whack. With Fauna, one of the few female Saiyans remaining, they could have given Broly a natural heir. As it stood, Broly, like the majority of the population, would have heirs born artificially some years into the future whenever the recombinant DNA center had perfected the process. Hopefully, the generations of Saiyans to come learned from the mistakes of their ancestors.

He went to the control panel to go looking for the course of events that led to the damage. It wasn’t something he  _ couldn’t _ repair, merely something he shouldn’t have had to and something he hadn’t expected. 

The staffs were well-made to handle brute force and should have only shattered at the application of inner power against it. He was pretty sure that most of the Saiyan population brought from Earth had the same mindset as Vegeta did: raw strength was the only strength.

_ The Princess? _ He thought curiously seeing Trunks on the screen. 

Dressed in the robes that marked him as Broly’s mate with lavender his hair framing his face around the crown he wore, he was as pretty as Broly had described, but there were cold melancholy and a deep-rooted pain in his blue eyes that Ware could feel through the video.

He hadn’t intended to interact with the Trunks quite yet, but it seemed that his plans were no longer important.

_ Interesting. _

*

He’d left Broly’s compound after his run-in with the woman in hopes to get some time to think. A few miles from Broly’s compound sat the outpost. There were only two Saiyan men and a Thelian woman there who all greeted him kindly and proceeded to let him wander around freely. It took no time to find a decent spot to sit down with his thoughts and be glad that at least the grass was green on this planet. He could almost pretend that he was back on Earth.

_ I could really use your advice, Mom. _

He sighed and continued to look out the window towards a collection of buildings he’d never noticed before. The ground shook, and he watched the fire go up in the distance. Alarms went off and the door slid open to reveal one of the young women who had been assigned to look after him.  She bore a strong resemblance to Cali. The two Saiyans of the post went flying towards the explosion.

_ Muri? Threa? Jasmi?  _ He thought unsure. He hadn't really been focusing on remembering their names even though they were all very kind to him. He was bored out of his mind, anxious and swimming in his despair. What he would have killed to have his tool belt and a spare scrap of metal.

“Your Highness, are you okay?”

“What’s going on?” Trunks asked;  he sniffed. There was a familiar scent in the air. 

He knew it from the lab back home. It was distant, nowhere near Broly’s compound, but near enough to smell and that could have been a problem all on its own.

“There was an accident in the agricultural laboratory. Nothing to alarm you--”

“Take me there,” he said following her into the base. He removed his jacket, folded it and placed it reverently on the windowsill. He told the man on duty to guard it with his life and followed her to the exit. 

“Your Highness, I don’t think--”

Trunks didn’t listen as another explosion went off and shook the ground. He flew towards the building, wrapped his face in a cloth and flew through the flames. 

“Evacuate everyone now! It’s going to explode!” he heard one of the Saiyans yell.

The man ran with the rest of them as Trunks floated down and landed in front of the control panel. Bulma had taken care to make sure that he could read and write Saiyan as well as most Earth languages. The warning screen spoke about an overload of some type of capacitor. 

He found the box the diagram specified and opened it. Grabbing the rack of tools, he opened it as the countdown began. 

*

“What the hell is going on?” Vegeta asked stalking outside towards the explosion.

“Well, your Highness, something’s gone wrong with the agricultural plant; they’ve evacuated--”

Broly flew overhead scanning the running groups of people. 

“Sir!”

He landed beside the girl who looked frantic and terrified, “What is it, Jasmi?”

“It’s the Princess, he went to the plant just after Mus and Gren!”

Broly’s eyes lifted, and he turned towards the burning mass. He knew that Trunks had enough power to be okay, but what he was doing going into a burning plant building was something else entirely.

“Broly,” Vegeta said as he landed. “Contain the situation while I straighten out these  _ idiots.  _ We’ll have put everyone on rations again, until--”

The loud blaring alarm shut off, and the fans began to whir and suffocate the fires. Vegeta frowned as Broly headed towards the building. The blast wouldn’t kill him if it was a false alarm, and it seemed that everyone was just as surprised as he was that it didn’t explode.

Vegeta followed, “It seems that someone I pay to make sure we don’t starve isn’t a complete--”

He shut his mouth seeing Trunks kneeling by the panel. His hair tied back, tools in his hands: a spitting image of -

“Princess,” Broly said as the main panel lit up green, and Trunks stood up with a pair of pliers between his teeth and a small panel in his hands.

Trunks turned and looked at Broly then to Vegeta before removing the pliers from his mouth and setting it back on the tool rack. 

“You should probably tell your staff to run  _ real _ calibration tests before starting production as well as stress testing the setup. It’s patched for now, but it needs to be actually repaired before anything can be done.”

Broly tilted his head with a slight smile as Vegeta stammered. Rather than stay another moment, Trunks shoved his hands into his pockets and walked around the small group. 

Broly wasn’t sure what the strange aura of frustration and melancholy radiating off of Vegeta was about, but he could be it had something to do with the way Trunks had simply walked around them all as if he had done nothing miraculous. 

 

Later, when Broly entered their chambers, Trunks is sitting on the windowsill wearing his jacket and staring out into the night. A cool breeze floated in through the window as Broly sat on the bed.

“Thank you, Princess. It was a kind thing you did today.”

Trunks’ eyes drifted toward him and looked him over as he took off his boots.

“I imagine the King was quite surprised to see you there. I wonder still what he expected to happen to you while in my home.”

Trunks said nothing and Broly smiled, “Were you an engineer on your home planet?”

Trunks’ eyes narrowed, and Broly smiled at his suspicion, “The Thelians are quite gifted at metallurgy and material making while the Seiyans have quite an advanced technology in their possession. I thought perhaps a tour around might help ease your boredom.”

Trunks’ eyes widened, “You… would let me leave?”

Broly’s eyes widened in shock, “You are not a prisoner here, Princess.”

“I… thought-- what if I don't come back?”

“Provided you are safe, that is your prerogative, ”Broly said, “May I ask that you at least tell one of the girls of your intentions not to return and that you will be safe? They have grown rather fond of you.”

Trunks stared at him as if he’d lost his mind, but Broly didn’t comment on it. Instead, he grabbed a drying cloth and headed into the bathroom. It was strange that Trunks seemed to think that he was some sort of prisoner. They were married not owner and slave. What exactly have Trunks been told about the Saiyan way? How much did he believe?

How much  _ didn’t _ he believe?

It would seem that Broly had a long journey ahead to make Trunks realize that what made the Saiyan race great was not what got them killed, and what they could be to each other was not what he’d been lead to believe. 

He got out of the bed and dressed for bed and was surprised to find Trunks looking for something to change into for bed and a drying cloth around his neck. Trunks flushed and nodded as he passed Broly into the bathroom and something in him relaxed. 

Whatever had made Trunks less wary of him enough to bathe while Broly was in the room, Broly was grateful for.

_ There’s hope _ , he thought and that was enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thanks for coming back to read my shenanigans. I know it's been forever, but 2018 has literally been the hardest year it could have possibly been. I don't even think there's much that could top it except maybe...   
> Nah. I got nothing. 
> 
> I will try to have this finished before the end of the year, but I can't make any promises since I haven't even scratched the surface of dealing with my own issues. Thanks for all the support, patience, and so on. Your comments and things were the highlights of a lot of dark days these past few months. Things will get better, and I say that not just for myself but for everyone who is going through a tough time. 
> 
> Things will get better.
> 
> Best, 
> 
> BLV13


	11. The Sword Of Tourin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Trunks is destined for great things.

“Sir Broly?” 

Broly looked up from the documents in his hand and turned towards the voice. 

Seeing her, he couldn’t help but smile. Gi’a and all of her sisters were all such cheery people that, even in the darkest moments of the last battle for the planet, he’d been hard pressed to feel down with them around. Now, with Trunks and the rehabilitation of the Saiyan race on the horizon, it was even harder not to find the little moments enjoyable even if his technical father-in-law was a pain in the ass. 

“Yes, Gi’a?”

“Well, the Princess is… outside.”

“And?”

“We weren’t sure what we should do?”

Broly frowned, “Is he in danger?”  

“Well, not that we can tell.”

Broly smiled, and he pat her shoulder, “Leave him. He is not a danger to himself.”

She nodded shakily, “Of course.”

Though what Trunks was doing outside was something of interest to him. He’d been catatonic more often than not. Perhaps the conversation from the night before had sparked a change in him. He still wasn’t sure what Trunks had been thinking with regards to his liberty and all of the puzzling on his own hadn’t helped in the slightest.

“Ware,” he called into the hall where the man could usually be found. 

As he thought, Ware was at his workbench apparently mending a bow-staff.

“Yes, Commander?”

Broly sat down, “I need advice.”

Ware chuckled, “Rarely do you seek advice from me, Commander, what is troubling you?”

“The princess and his father.”

Ware nodded, “Go on.”

“He  _ hates _ the Saiyan race.”

“That is because he hates his father and that is all he knows of it,” Ware said, “I wouldn’t worry too much about that.”

“He also doesn’t seem to have a fond idea of me.”

“He doesn’t know you,” Ware said, “Give it time. I know you are attracted to him, but this has all been a large ordeal for Princess Trunks as far as I can tell.”

Broly huffed and scrubbed at the blush on his cheeks.

“I was planning to have a word with the Princess, perhaps you’d like to know how that goes?”

“You’re going to show him the room, aren’t you?”

“It’s his birthright,” he said, “And with any luck, something will choose him that will infuriate the King?”

Broly grinned, “I would like that a lot.”

“I as well, no about his Highness? What is the issue now?”

Broly gave him a wry smile, “He wants to tax me.”

*

“Princess Trunks.”

He stopped at the phrase. From the tone, he knew it wasn’t someone from Earth, but that didn’t make it easier to bear. He turned to see the older Saiyan, dressed similarly to Broly in loose pants and a brilliant green tunic. It looked a little like gis on Earth and would have made him smile if not for the pain in his chest. 

He wondered how they were doing and how much time had passed on Earth. If they missed him and if he’d ever get to see any of them again.

“Yes?”

“It is an honor to meet you,” he said, “My name is Ware. I’m the weapons keeper and unofficial Saiyan historian.”

Trunks waited, and the man carried on. 

“I thought perhaps you might like an actual introduction into the history of your esteemed lineage.”

“Murdering, mercenary work, enslaved, nearing extinction,” Trunks rattled off, “I think I’ve got it.”

The man chuckled, “Yes, that is a good summary of Saiyan history as far as King Vegeta and his father were concerned. I thought perhaps you had more of an interest in the Saiyan history having to do with Commander Broly and your dress: the true Saiyan, pre-Freiza history.”

Trunks regarded the man suspiciously, “Why?”

“You are the only living heir of King Vegeta, while King Vegeta had no patience to learn, there is no sense in leaving you in the dark. Perhaps while you are here it may help you despise half the blood in your veins a little less.”

Trunks wasn’t sure why, but the words made him nod and follow the man down the hall towards the weapons room. 

“Why is this all housed in Broly’s home, and how did it survive the planet exploding?”

He chuckled, “This part of Saiyan history is of special importance to Commander Broly. Traditionally, it was housed in the palace. As Commander Broly’s compound is a palace of a sort, we saw no reason to move it. Your father also seemed to have no interest in it. Your grandfather had it all discarded, and I took the liberty of taking it off planet when it became clear that Freiza meant us no good.”

Trunks smiled walking into the room to look around, “I’m liking this already.” 

“Each heir of the Saiyan royal line is usually given a weapon, or rather the weapon usually chooses them. Your father dismissed the entire practice as his father had before him when the weapon that chose them wasn’t to their liking.”

Trunks snorted, “That sounds like him.”

“Yes,” he said. “Your father also lacked the patience to learn to wield it properly, though in the midst of Frieza and of course the former King Vegeta, it was to be expected. Tell me, have you used weapons before?”

Trunks nodded, “Back on Earth.”

Ware hummed, standing in the middle and watching the prince look around. 

“Don’t suppose his  _ highness _ would be too happy with me getting one of these.”

“As far as I can tell, it would serve him right for treating you the way he does.”

Trunks looked over his shoulder at him, “What do you mean?”

“I am not familiar with Earth language, but I gathered from your reaction to your title, as well as the hearsay of the Saiyans that came with your father from Earth, that it is more a mark of shame than pride,” the man sighed, “Be that as it may, we are bound by our allegiance to the throne to call you by the title set forth by the king, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

Trunks turned back to the wall, “Thank you.”

“Did you favor a weapon back on Earth?” Ware asked, tracking him around the room. 

“Not particularly. My sensei taught me how to use most weapons.”

“ _ Sensei _ ? I’m not familiar with this word.”

“...Teacher,” Trunks clarified coming to a stop and look up at the sword mounted at the very top, “Why is it so far out of reach?”

Ware chuckled, “That is the Sword of Tourin.” 

Trunks hummed, “What’s so special about it?”

“Tourin was the first named Super Saiyan in history. They say he was a master swordsmith and crafted it so that his ki couldn’t destroy it.”

“Why hasn’t it been given to Broly then? Isn’t he the current Legendary Super Saiyan?”

Ware chuckled, “Tourin was also the first in your family line, so it is a family heirloom more than a Saiyan one.”

Trunks hummed, “So his highness wanted the sword.”

“He and his father. The sword rejected them both with burns that lasted for three weeks.”

“How so?”

“It’s still imbued with his ki and bit of his consciousness they say.”

Trunks chuckled, “Particular man, isn’t he?”

“Why don’t you give it a try?” Ware asked. 

“I’m not sure I want to be burned,” Trunks winced, “Seems a little antithetical.”

Ware laughed, “It didn’t burn them upon picking it up, it burned them when they tried to remove it from the treasury.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Trunks shrugged and floated up towards it. When he reached out, he felt something like a warmth around it as if it had really been imbued with ki. The handle felt warm in his hand, and he felt the ki with a sudden awareness as it rippled across him.

“It’s beautiful,” Trunks said softly. He lifted it from the rack and shivered. The world went dark for a moment, but he felt something calling to him from the sword. 

The center of the blade glowed, and the pommel turned silver in his hands. 

“So,” Trunks started, “How am I supposed to know it won’t burn me?”

Ware looked up at him and chuckled. The surge of ki had enveloped Trunks, igniting something in him. His hair turned blonde and his eyes sea green. 

“I think you can.”

“Think he likes me,” Trunks said floating down. 

“For all of the King’s complaining,” Ware said, “There is much Saiyan in you.”

Trunks could only smile. “Is it terrible that I’m looking forward to walking around with it in front of him?”

He laughed, “I’m looking forward to that as well.”

Ware offered him the sheath and the tie that had come with it. Trunks replaced it with the two pieces of his belt from Earth. He wasn't sure if Tourin would appreciate it, but since it wasn't burnt off or destroyed, he guessed it was okay.

Trunks chuckled and spent the rest of the day with Ware listening to him read from the old Saiya texts. It was a very different image of the Saiyan people that Trunks was quickly finding more compelling than the version he’d gleaned from watching Vegeta and the rest of the Saiyans on Earth. 

That night he returned to his shared chambers with Broly and the older man simply smiled at him with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you with the sword of Tourin.”

Trunks swallowed, “Why is that?”

“Because your father is an asshole and deserves to suffer.”

Trunks blinked and found moments later that his stomach and sides were aching but he couldn’t stop it. There was a loud sound rippling through the room, filling it and mingling with another, richer sound that was similar to it in cadence and pitch. 

It wasn’t until the pain was easing that he’d realized that he and Broly had been laughing.


End file.
